Infinitely
by burnupasun
Summary: Arthur returns to Merlin in 21st century Britain. Together, they try to resolve the things left unsaid since they last saw each other, while trying to adjust Arthur to modern life. And as Merlin desperately tries to figure out why Albion needs him now, Arthur begins to suspect he was brought back for one specific reason-Merlin. Continues immediately following the series finale.
1. Chapter 1

***Note:** It begins! I've not written any Merlin fic before, so I hope this goes well. And don't worry, Merlin may be old in this chapter, but he won't appear so very soon!

**Chapter 1**

Merlin paused. He adjusted the satchel strewn over his shoulders. His head inclined towards the lake to his left, but his eyes did not lift. The sight of the grassy knoll and the misted lake that encompassed it was engrained into his memory, and to look would only confirm what—_who_—he knew was not there. He sensed no ripples in the water, no rising figure, no sputtering breath. Arthur was not there. Merlin berated himself for it, but still he could not help stopping at Avalon's lookout, where the king had been buried so many centuries ago. Gripping the strap of his satchel and feeling the weight of its contents lay heavy on his shoulder, Merlin looked ahead down the concrete road and continued walking.

The wind was not unkind, but there was a definite chill in the air, as one expects when summer settles and the warm season teeters into autumn. Merlin could feel his beanie hat slipping, as the wind pushed its claws under and slowly lifted it from his white hair. With one hand on his head and the other stuffed into the pocket of his wool coat, Merlin trudged the distance to his cottage. Whereas many of the homes in the surrounding village all bore a resemblance to one another on their fronts, Merlin's home was decidedly dissimilar. Its antiqueness lent to the legends, or "rumors" as the parents of children who spread them said. Though Merlin did spend much time abroad (several weeks at a time), he unfailingly returned back to his cottage. And as he kept himself up to speed with the world's affairs, he was also privy to a certain local legend that told of the odd and lonely man who lived in a cottage on a hill, who could never die, who brewed potions and made lightening strike, and who survived by living off the youth of missing children.

Merlin, of course, knew the latter bit was nonsense but he did nothing to refute it. In fact, it amused him greatly when, every few years or so, an especially brave child would knock on his door or hide in his garden to catch a glimpse of the old man's gold eyes or his white, wispy hair. And if such a child were a lucky one, they would even see a form of a dragon, glittering in fire ash and sparks, as they ran home. It was a safe gesture as the children who witnessed such magic were always alone and were never believed by their mates, no matter how they tried.

These legends, however, provided Merlin with a greater gift than cheap amusement. They granted him solitude, either out of fear from his distant neighbors or perhaps dislike of the strange aura Merlin surely gave. He preferred to be alone but he was also keen on not moving his permanent home, and the rumors enforced by children in the village were simply an aid to the old warlock.

Merlin, aching slightly from the dampness in the air that surrounded his cottage, walked up a small incline, on the dirt path that emerged from the paved road. The land around the cottage was simple and wild, but not in a way that suggested laziness or indifference. It was simply that Merlin liked the way his garden resembled a miniature forest. There were delightful wildflowers in the summer and snow-covered pines in the winter, just as nature, Merlin thought, should be. There was a little but sturdy horse stable that kept two mares that he fed and groomed and sometimes took for a ride. The cottage itself, however, was made of stone and decaying wood, and moss that blanketed much of it. On the roof, there was a stubby chimney that puffed when the hearth was in use. The front door squeaked when opened or closed. In short, Merlin's cottage was all that a home should be, no more and no less.

Naturally, its inside was more telltale of a wizard inhabitant than a dreary old man. But no one ever saw the inside, except for Merlin, and he liked to keep it that way.

Merlin kicked off his brown boots, removed his cap, and began to unbutton his coat as he moved through the door. His tabby cat slinked by, curling itself around Merlin's leg. He bent down to pet it gently under its chin but the squeak of the door closing frightened it and caused it to leap into another small room of the cottage. Taking off his coat and hanging it over the back of a wooden chair, Merlin raised his hand to the radio perched atop a table and his eyes flashed gold. Immediately, it turned on and a man giving the news was speaking, "_…third bombing this week in a major British city. That makes the total dead nearly thirty and over fifty more injured. It is not certain who was behind the Cardiff attack, but it is certain those involved are members of the same organization responsible for the attacks in Leeds and York. Precautions are being set in London, among other cities, and, once again, government officials urge any witnesses of unusual or suspicious activity to inform the police—_"

The rest of the newscast was interrupted by a rather harsh shake of Merlin's hand an abrupt shutdown of the radio that left several sparks flying and a brief hum of static. Merlin sighed and rubbed the sides of his head with his fist, frustrated. When it came to terrorist attacks, when it came to war and turmoil, and all the bad things he had seen men do over the centuries of his life, he was now at a point where he did not understand what horror Albion—now called Great Britain—had to be in for Arthur to return. Falling into the chair at the table, Merlin kneaded his wrinkled forehead, thinking.

He had expected Arthur's return so many times in the past, it felt futile to hope for it now. Perhaps, he thought, the Great Dragon had been wrong. Perhaps Arthur would not return. Perhaps it had been a lie to ease the passing of his king.

But had not Merlin seen Arthur's arm grasp Excalibur and pull it below the surface? Had he not heard Arthur be called Albion's "Once and Future King" upon multiple occasions? Surely those were signs of things to come. But still, where had Arthur been when the land had nearly succumbed to air raids fifty years ago? When riots shook the land? When civil wars threatened to ruin the kingdom they had built together? Where had Arthur been when the Empire was falling? Hope, Merlin had learned the hard way, was a poisonous thing.

There were so many instances in which a hopeful Merlin had waded out into the waters of Avalon, trousers rolled up to his calves, his eyes searching for a sign of Arthur and had left, dejected and bleak. At the table, Merlin threw his fist down. He wanted to scream. In the cottage, bottles vibrated and threatened to fall off their counters. A brisk breeze whipped through his room and rustled the herbs hanging from the ceiling.

Lately, he had been lax on what he had considered his duties after Arthur's death: to protect the land and its people, within Camelot's borders and beyond. Merlin felt aged. He was _so old._ He felt despondent in the face of Arthur's unfulfilled return. _What was the point?_ he wondered. Running a hand through his hair, Merlin felt his surroundings calm down.

The people he passed now felt like a different people to him and Arthur had simply become a ghost, and Merlin had become Albion's shadow but not its keeper. Kings he had outlived were corrupt and so were the people. Over hundreds of years, Merlin had witnessed too much. He was slowly losing faith, losing the desire to hold together the fabric of these united kingdoms.

Tomorrow, Merlin decided, he would stay at home and advance his own studies. He would stay indoors and worry only about himself. _People_, he thought, _can take care of themselves_.

Merlin stood and clutched his satchel, holding against his navy sweater-clad chest. He walked to his bedroom and unloaded the contents of his bag. It was another book and an illustration slid within a think plastic bag. Looking at his collection, Merlin set the newest addition atop piles of some of the others. Most of these books bore similar titles: _King Arthur: Behind the History and the Myth, Guinevere and Lancelot, Le Morte d'Arthur, Camelot and the Arthurian Legend_. Many books were in French, some in Welsh, a few in more eastern languages, but most in English. Merlin had no problem translating the texts, as he had picked up his fair share of fluency over the years. There were novels, histories, dramas, drawings, and fragments of texts. He had his favorites and he had others he disregarded entirely, being aware of how ridiculous they were. On good days, he laughed at how much of the credit had been given to Arthur for miraculous battle victories and how his own character had reached such an astute level.

But there were bad days as well, when he pored over the accounts of Arthur's supposed immortality, wishing for some fact or myth he had overlooked but no book proved to be anything more but merely a confirmation of what Merlin already was told. And yet, Merlin couldn't help but progress his collection. It was comforting, in a way, to know how his and Arthur's story had become so legendary. Though, he found, it was never told in quite the manner that Merlin remembered it happening. Most of accounts of the warlock depicted him as a much older (even grouchy, Merlin was displeased to read) advisor to King Arthur.

But their names lived on, and as a pair, he noted, and that was enough.

Merlin ran his thumb over the spine of his newest book, entitled _The Tragedy of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table_. The title was in gold against a grey cover. He had attempted to barter with an Irish bookkeeper until the man had given in and simply gave Merlin the book, seeing he wanted it so desperately. Within the book was a loose page equipped with a beautiful, gothic illustration of a robust blonde man wielding a sword, surrounded by rocks. The caption read _Arthur pulls Excalibur from the stone._

Merlin sighed once more and looked out his bedroom window. It was dusk. He was tired from the journey home and so he would soon retire to bed. Merlin looked out his window, at the lake of Avalon that bordered his cottage on its lonesome hill. His eyes scanned the water briefly. He then shut its panel blinds and said, almost inaudibly, "Goodnight, Arthur."

Later, in the night, Merlin was asleep. He did not witness the first ring of ripples forming on the lake.


	2. Chapter 2

***Note:**

Thank you everyone for your kind support! I'm afraid I won't be responding to each review individually, but take heart that I love reading each one. For any of you wondering "Is Merlin going to stay old?" the answer is in this chapter.

Also, though I do have some specifics I would like to include in this fic, I'm basically winging it as I go, so if anyone has any favorite headcanons, you can certainly put them in reviews and they may inspire me!

As always, thank you for reading :)

**Chapter 2**

In his sleep, Merlin dreamt of crusades. While it was difficult to capture the significance of his dreams, it was clear they centered on a familiar theme, though in the morning he could not remember what it had been. And when he woke, he woke late. A rather unfortunate side effect of planting his permanent residence beside the lake of Avalon was its perpetual dampness, which often settled in his limbs and old bones. More often than not, Merlin would wake to a slight ache in his body and stiffness in his joints. On this particular morning however, though he could already see the fog seeping through the cracks in his cottage, he felt pleasantly rested.

Stretching as he sat up, Merlin smacked his lips and grumbled a little, as old men are prone to do. He rubbed the beige fabric of his nightshirt against his chest, effectively ridding himself of an itch.

Standing, he carried himself to the window, still feeling drowsy from his long sleep. He unlocked the panels and threw them open. Merlin's eyes momentarily darted to a specific spot in the lake but did not dwell on it. Instead, he walked into his small kitchen and prepared himself a hot meal of porridge.

He thought about the things he wanted to do today, listing them off in his head: _Feed the horses, read the new book and study its origin, write_—if he could—_some notes on swords forged in a dragon's breath_. It was true that Merlin collected a plethora of Arthurian legend texts, but the warlock himself was the author of numerous essays and notes of his time in Camelot, though they would never meet the public. These notes, Merlin had once concluded, was a way of remembering what had truly conspired under reign of the Pendragons. More and more, modern interpretations of the Arthurian legend mingled so tightly with what Merlin had experienced that, with each passing year, it became increasingly difficult to extract the truth from fiction. The result of these notes became folders upon folders of Merlin's scribbling, sometimes in lengthy, well thought-out narrations and other times succinct definitions or dates, or a particular emotion he had had in response to an event. Either way, Merlin had become the owner of the most elaborate (and accurate) Arthurian legend compilation. And today, he would further it.

Merlin rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck as he stood stirring his pot of breakfast on the hot stove. It surprised him how well he felt. Actually, Merlin thought, he hadn't felt this good in years. Ignoring his sudden burst of wellbeing (don't question the positives, just let them be), Merlin opened a nearby drawer of utensils and pulled out a spoon and then reaching above, grabbed a metal plate down.

Dumping the spoon into his porridge, Merlin brought it to the plate when he saw something he had not seen in over a hundred years: a younger version of himself. Yes, in the shining silver of the plate, an image of his younger self reflected back at him.

It was not the boyish face had had when he left Ealdor for Camelot nor was it the more mature face he had grown into under Arthur's rule. Instead, Merlin himself, not quite as the old white-haired man he had grown accustomed to, but with slightly darker, thicker hair. The plate, however, was not an adequate mirror. Shocked, Merlin dropped his plate and rushed to the bathroom where he stared at himself in a proper mirror. There, in stronger detail, Merlin saw he looked about fifty instead of in his late 70s. His hair was a heavy grey instead of white. His wrinkles, though still apparent, were diluted and the age spots on his face (and on his hands as he later inspected) all but disappeared. The many crow's feet around his eyes had reduced to lighter lines. His skin, overall, felt fresher and tighter than it had in years.

Involuntarily, Merlin let out a shuddered gasp. After a moment of poking and prodding his own remarkable face, Merlin rushed to his bedroom, to his desk, where he retrieved an ancient book on sorcery, charms, and herbs Gaius had so kindly given him when he was a boy. He flicked through the pages, manually at first. But then, impatient, Merlin's eyes burned gold and the book was rapidly turning it's own pages. As he spotted the word "age" or "aging," Merlin paused to read the page. Quickly enough, he came across an aging potion he was all too well acquainted with. There were also herbs said to slow the aging process, spells and incantations to momentarily reverse aging, among other magical properties involved in aging. There was, however, nothing about losing what appeared to be almost thirty years overnight.

Frustrated, Merlin moved onto a smaller book entitled _Immortality, Mortality, and the Search for the Philosopher's Stone_. While Merlin himself acknowledged about half of the book to be utter nonsense, written by men with factious desires and beliefs, he currently felt desperate. Again, there was nothing.

In a bitter battle of his emotions, Merlin felt marveled, impressed, and worried all at once. Collapsing into the spindly wooden chair at his desk, Merlin shook his head, confused. For only about a second he considered looking for help, for someone who might be able to give him an answer to this riddle, but then Merlin quickly reminded himself he was the oldest sorcerer, as far as he knew, in existence. Additionally, there was likely no one with a greater knowledge of magical circumstances than himself, Merlin thought proudly. The Druid people had long died out, save for a small few who had preserved the lineage, though they were nowhere near as useful to him now as they once had been.

Deep in thought, Merlin's stomach interrupted him by rudely reminding him he had taken no breakfast yet. Getting up, Merlin decided he would observe the progress (or possible lack thereof) of this new de-aging quandary before he made any sudden actions.

"Yes, yes," he said patting his belly. "Time to eat."

The rest of the day, Merlin attempted to distract himself by doing work he promised himself he would accomplish that day. Shivering slightly in the newly autumn air, Merlin pulled on a dark brown coat with a white Sherpa collar and kept his hands within their sleeves. First, Merlin visited his pair of horses. He brought their food and spent some time grooming them and cleaning their stables. Soon, he tired and returned within his cottage. All the while he read _The Tragedy of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table_, he ignored the question of his age that pushed into the back of his brain like an annoying parasite or, he mused, a king asking him to do tedious chores he didn't want to do. As the night began to fall, Merlin still sat at his chair, reading.

"_Forbearne_" he said and the candle on his desk lit.

A little while later, candlelight was too dim for the night and Merlin muttered, "_Leoht"_ and a spew of white lights blossomed around him. His magic, at least, conveniently helped him dodge many electrical bills.

A little while later still, Merlin had fallen asleep, face in book.

And again, Merlin missed the steady vibrations of the lake, whose ripples bounced greater that night.

The next morning, upon waking, Merlin immediately ran to his bathroom to inspect himself in the mirror. His eyes narrowed as he saw, though with not such a significant age gap as last time, that he was indeed looking younger. His hair was almost completely black now, with hints of grey streaks. The once lightly clouded eyes Merlin had seen through cleared to their former cerulean blue and his deep wrinkles nearly vanished. Besides considering this strange new transformation, Merlin secondly realized how ridiculous he looked with long black hair and a beard. An old man could get away with such lazy locks, but a man in his (evidently) early forties could not.

Merlin raced to the kitchen with such stealth he surprised even himself. "Where are they?" he murmured. "Ah! Here!" he said, pulling out a pair of long, dangerous-looking scissors. Bringing them back to the bathroom with him, Merlin peered into the mirror hard before taking a deep breath and cutting away his excess hair. It fell into the sink and Merlin amusingly thought he should learn a spell that cuts hair evenly. He then proceeded to shave away his beard.

When he was done, Merlin gently fingered his hair. He felt unusual, like coming home to a place he had thought had changed but realizing it had simply been him who changed. He looked at his old self with young eyes and wondered when this would stop, why it was happening, and what it all meant.

"Hmph," he said to himself in the mirror. The warlock cleaned the hair out of sink and carried it to the trash bin in his kitchen where he saw his radio sitting complacently, in the adjoining living room. He absently thought that this whole aging business had actually distracted him from what was going on in the rest of the world. Turning a dial, Merlin waited for an updated newscast and it was only a moment before a man began to speak, "_Listeners. It is my duty to inform you all that another tragedy has taken place in the heart of Great Britain today. A shooting arranged by what we can now confirm was six men killed over a dozen, including men, women, and children and injured sever—_"

The radio burst. Merlin dug his nails into his fists and squeezed shut his eyes. His voice, now less raspy, yelled. Pieces of metal shot upward and tiny sparks ignited and then dissolved in the air like fireworks.

This was too much for Merlin, simply too much. Things had been different, years ago, when battles could be anticipated. He could stop things then, and he _cared _to then. There had been a purpose. Now, he wondered why he should bother. And these recent attacks were not battles; these were murder. This land had taken so much away from him and from each other that it was difficult to want to be its protector.

Albion, he thought, sliding his face into his hand, would fall and he would have no part in saving it. Its people did not deserve it, Merlin thought bitterly.

Three more days passed with gradual change in Merlin's appearance. Each day the progression slowed, but it was steady. And each day Merlin became more and more uncertain as to what it meant or how (and if) he should treat it. His radio went unreplaced.

On the fourth day, Merlin was in his garden. He now looked to be in his late twenties. Kneeling on the grass, clad in a blue hoodie and brown coat, Merlin set down the clippers after snipping away bits of dead flowers. His face was dirtied and he felt sweaty. Sitting down cross-legged, Merlin gave himself a tiny break from work. The tips of his large ears and the ball of his nose were pink in the cold. He cupped his hands and blew into them, spreading happy warmth throughout his entire body with the aid of an unspoken spell.

This then gave Merlin an idea. Again he cupped his hands, but this time he whispered into them, and, opening them, released a blue butterfly that fluttered about him to his absolute merriment.

But as it flew upwards, another small creature blew into view as well. Merlin squinted, and saw it was a near duplicate of his butterfly, albeit its color: red. The edges of its wings were trimmed in gold. The two traced around one another in the air before disappearing from Merlin's view. For a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, wondering why another butterfly would be so active in November. He had never seen one so late in the season. And the intense scarlet color of the insect, too, was curious.

Then, Merlin clumsily staggered to his feet and ran to the shore of the lake.


	3. Chapter 3

***Note: **Again, thank you so much for the lovely reviews. And wow! Over 100 followers.

It really means a lot to me, especially since I've not written a Merlin fic before and I want this one to go well. And just so everyone knows, I ama Merthur shipper so you can expect some light romance in the future (though not quite yet).

Once again, thank you for reading and have a fantastic new year! On with Merlin!

**Chapter 3**

Merlin tripped over his boots several times on the run there.

_ Of course, of course! _he thought. Merlin would have smacked his hand against his forehead had he not been running like a maniac. On his sprint downhill, Merlin stumbled a few times but was able to hold his footing well enough to keep moving without falling on his face. The sun began to set and the sky displayed an assortment of dulling pastel colors, from pink to yellow to blue, only just holding onto the day's light. On the lake, the hues reflected and mingled as soft waves reached the shore. As Merlin ran, the brisk coldness in the air filtered through his lungs and burned him as he yelled urgently, "Arthur! _Arthur!_"

Merlin felt his legs beginning to itch from the intensity with which he ran, but he did not stop until he reached the edge of the lake, and not even then. The water was cool but not disagreeable and Merlin could feel wetness pour into his boots and through his socks. He stood ankle deep, his eyes scrutinizing the entirety of the lake. Perhaps it would take a few moments, he thought. Perhaps he should wait on the dry land, take his boots off and sit on the squishy grass and wait for a sword or a tousle of blonde hair to emerge from the waters. But Merlin did not move.

While he waited, his gaze did not lessen, but his mind reeled and drove away from the lake. What Merlin realized now, what he felt stupid for not realizing before, was that his physical appearance mirrored his age in which Arthur had died. The intense blackness of his hair, his smooth ivory skin, and blue eyes that were not encompassed by any deep circles were how they appeared when he had been in his late twenties and his king was swallowed by the lake, and Merlin promised of his return. The de-aging process, Merlin thought, was unique; and here he was again, picking up from where he and Arthur had left off.

Merlin held his breath. It hardly felt like Arthur's return. Somehow, Merlin expected a grand scene of cheering crowds and shaking earth and swirling whirlpools where Arthur had been laid to rest. He almost laughed, thinking how the legends were influencing such ludicrous ideas. Biting his lip, Merlin squinted. Daylight dimmed and it was hard to see now. The water was beginning to feel cold and his feet felt unstable, locked in the muddy sand. Soon, his legs felt numb. _He just needs more time_, Merlin thought. After all, waiting for his dead friend to pop out of a lake was hardly something Merlin knew how to handle. _What if_, he thought worriedly, _Arthur doesn't rise from the lake? What if he's out and about walking down some street in London? How exactly does resurrection work? _

No, no. Arthur _had _to be here. Merlin had always planned it this way; he would be here, in this spot, when Arthur returned. Merlin would be there for him. And so, Merlin waited longer, until it was impossible to see with the naked eye. There were no city lights, nothing to guide him by, and Merlin, in his rush, had overlooked lighting any candles or turning on any lamps in his cottage. He was completely in the dark, waiting in utter stillness.

"_Leoht_," he said and a ball of light erupted in his hand. A pool of light glowed around him.

"Arthur!" he shouted again, desperately, but there was nothing but the steady ripple of the lake. Even the citadel across the lake, on Avalon's hill was becoming invisible in the shroud of the dark night and the mist that always hovered above the waters. How long had Merlin been there waiting? Eyelids beginning to close, Merlin felt drowsy. "Arthur?" Gods, perhaps he had read the signs wrong. Maybe the butterfly meant nothing. Maybe his apparent youth was simply a fact of immortality. For, with all the years ahead of him, Merlin couldn't imagine aging like that forever. Maybe he had just gotten so old that his magic had kindly reversed his appearance and was going to allow him to age all over again.

"Arthur," Merlin said once more, quietly. Feeling his eyes brimming with wetness, Merlin shot one more look out to the lake and then turned around. It was false hope, he told himself, nothing more than wishful thinking. It wasn't as though the world was falling to pieces, and Arthur was only destined to rise again when Albion was in great need. As far as Merlin could see, the world was turning precisely as it had done for centuries.

The warlock trudged slowly up the hill and back to his cottage. Inside, Merlin used minimal amounts of magic to light his way to his bed, in order to avoid tripping over furniture as he sometimes did.

He neglected to close and lock his windows and he neglected to change out of his hoodie and trousers, and he even kept his boots on. In his bedroom, feeling thoroughly miserable, Merlin toppled onto his bed, where his feet dangled over the edge. His pillow became slightly wet with tears and he did not have the strength to cover himself with blankets. But before he could shed any more tears for his lost friend, Merlin fell into a heavy sleep and all traces of light went out.

**XXXXX**

Sometime before the dawn, there was a ruffle in the Lake of Avalon. And there was a breeze in the November air, and then there was a burst of water. The King of Camelot resurfaced and Arthur Pendragon breathed his first in over five hundred years.

**XXXXX**

Merlin woke with a start. The sun was not yet in the sky, but it was peeking over the night. At first, Merlin felt warm in his grogginess but that coziness soon vanished when he felt his the bottom of his trousers sticking to him and the socks in his boots still dank. The second thing Merlin noticed was the thickness of fog within his bedroom. He sighed, remembering he had not closed his window the night before, but as he stood and moved into the living area, Merlin saw the mist had commandeered his entire cottage. The mist was cool and smelled like water and pines and the freshness of the earth and the scent of a fading fire. Confused, Merlin cleared his way with magic to find his front door.

Outside, the fog was even denser and it made Merlin's skin tingle throughout his entire body. He wiggled his shoulders. It felt like living magic and the discovery of something long lost.

Again, and for the last time, Merlin's body shook with realization and he hurtled through his garden, down the hill, and to the lake where he _knew_ Arthur would be. If he hadn't felt it last time, his king's return was surging through his body now. It was unbearable and it was wonderful, and he relished its electricity in those very few minutes that he ran. The lake's shore was smothered in the mist but Merlin's gold eyes could see through it.

There was a figure, bobbing in the waters, struggling towards the land, yellow and silver and scarlet, shining against the lake's surface. Merlin felt himself expel something between a laugh and sob that had been wracking through his chest, and finally reached his mouth.

The sorcerer threw himself into the lake. The water felt surprisingly thin and easy to wade through, as if it had been made for the very purpose of retrieving Arthur. Arthur himself was not so far from the shore and Merlin realized, amidst his panic and joy and feeling that his stomach was going to jump out of his mouth, that Arthur must have risen sometime in the night, and it made him sad to think so.

"Arthur!" Merlin called, now waist-deep and sputtering slightly. Arthur didn't answer and waded slowly through the lake, which was also up to his waist. His cape floated around him like sheen of scarlet water and in one hand he gripped Excalibur. "Arthur, I'm coming! Hold on!"

Finally Merlin reached Arthur, and grabbed him around the chest and began to pull him into shore. Merlin's fingers scraped against Arthur's chainmail and they bled a little, but Merlin did not notice. The king's head lolled against Merlin's shoulder, his eye's half open and his fringe hanging sloppily over them.

Against the shore, the two landed, Merlin exhausted, soaking, and unable to tell if Arthur was aware. His sword fell on the cusp of land, its hilt and pommel still in the water. Merlin pulled Arthur completely out of the lake, onto the knoll as gently as he could, with his head in his lap.

"Arthur," Merlin said softly, running his hand through Arthur's wet hair. "Arthur, can you hear me?" He shook his shoulder and the king grunted, then coughed. "Arthur, it's Merlin. I'm here." As Merlin blinked his eyes rapidly to usher away his tears, Arthur's blue eyes focused and landed on Merlin's face hovering above his.

"Merlin," Arthur said in a raspy, but alert voice that made the warlock sigh with tremendous relief.

"It's okay, Arthur. Everything's fine. I promise," he said, grinning wildly.

Arthur's eyes drooped a little, but he smiled and said, looking directly in Merlin's eyes, "Of course it is. But what on _earth_ are you wearing? You look ridiculous," and promptly passed out in Merlin's arms.


	4. Chapter 4

***Note: **Hello again! I can't say how much I appreciate your reviews and support, and constructive criticism that I do take to heart. If there was any confusion about what I meant by "light Merthur," I mean that I'm not going to write smut but there will be minimal romance-y things, but nothing near mature. Well, you'll see!

Also, I'm sorry it took a few days to get this chapter up. I've been moving back to university, so I've been quite busy.

Finally, I got mention of how it is The Lady of the Lake's arm that catches Excalibur when Merlin throws it in, but I disagree. If you look closely at the arm in 5.13 it looks too masculine to be Freya's. But each to her own! For this fic, I'm going to go with my belief it was Arthur.

**Chapter 4**

It took Merlin a little over an hour to carry Arthur to his cottage.

While Merlin was an old man (his precise age, he sometimes forgot himself), he was also the same slender boy he had always been. He first tried to lift Arthur with sheer strength, but finding that he could not, Merlin removed Arthur's armor and chainmail. It surprised him how well he remembered the exact meticulousness and steps it took to rid Arthur of his heavy gear, whose weight felt gratifyingly familiar. Merlin finally folded the king's red cape over his chainmail, armor, and belt in a neat pile that he would retrieve once he was certain Arthur was warm and well within his cottage.

At the lake's shore, he left Excalibur vertically secured in the grass; he would come back for it later. He looked at it, and thought Arthur would be furious for leaving his sword out in the moist air, embedded in the earth. He would tell Merlin that it would rust and that Merlin would be responsible for polishing it, that idiot.

But Merlin would tell Arthur, no it won't, you clotpole, it was forged in a dragon's breath so it's nearly indestructible, I hardly think a little mist is going to be its downfall. And then Arthur would bring up the state of his armor and the fact of a small tear in his cape, and Merlin would duck to avoid the object the king would inevitably throw at him.

Merlin shook his head empty. He didn't need to create pretend conversations with Arthur anymore; he was here.

Because Arthur was wholly unconscious, Merlin had no help in his endeavor up the hill. Even in only a white tunic and trousers, he had to momentarily pause for breath several times.

"Arthur," Merlin grunted, as he tugged him up the knoll with his hands under Arthur's arms. "You'd better appreciate this." He continued to speak to the unconscious king between breaths, "The things I do for you. Ridiculous. You'd think you would've lost a few pounds over the years, but I think you may have even gained a few. Only you." He grinned down at Arthur, who elicited no reply. The warlock sighed and continued on the path, until he reached his door.

The mist that had overtaken his cottage in the morning faded now to a pallid haze that only just hung in the air.

_"Leoht!" _Merlin shouted commandingly. A multitude of lights flickered on in every room, from the bulbs on the ceiling to petite lamps on the table next to his armchair and on his desk. Even a few candles flared but then went out when they realized they were directed by a different kind of illumination. Merlin looked down at Arthur who lay limply against his knees at the threshold of his home. He stirred faintly and murmured something unintelligible.

Tenderly, Merlin gathered Arthur into his arms, one arm under his back the other under his knees. He shifted in Merlin's grasp, letting his head lean against Merlin' s chest. It was a difficult task, but he was only a few feet away from a bed now. With his magic, Merlin could move chairs out of the way and open the door to his room. Panting softly, Merlin laid Arthur down onto his bed.

The king was shivering, so Merlin put a hand over his forehead, muttered a spell, and watched as Arthur shuddered and then relaxed in the comforting heat of Merlin's magic.

At the edge of his bed sat a small wicker basket with many knitted blankets within it. Taking out all of them, he first removed Arthur's tunic and then swathed him like a child in a heap of the earth-toned covers.

Then, Merlin changed out of his own damp clothes into a sweater and dry trousers and no socks. He cleaned off his bloodied fingers, though they still stung.

Trying to keep his eye on Arthur the entire time, Merlin rushed into the living area to grab a wooden chair, which he placed beside the only bed he owned. He sat in it with his hands clasped tightly together. Twisting around in the chair, Merlin glared at the fireplace in his living room and told it to start.

Eventually, the uncomfortable wetness in his cottage changed to snug warmth.

Now, for the first time since his return, Merlin truly looked at Arthur.

He thankfully looked different from when he last saw him. Despite his dampness (that was now fading fast thanks to a combination of Merlin's magic and the blankets), Arthur looked well. The blue-grey tinge of death was lifted from his skin. His lips and cheeks were flushed faintly pink, as they had done when he was healthy, perhaps after a particularly loud shouting match with his servant.

Merlin put a hand through the king's hair. It was bright yellow and did not seem to have been damaged over the years. It felt soft and just the tiniest bit stringy, like it always had.

Overall, Merlin thought, Arthur looked pretty good for a man dead some hundreds of years. Just like he had taken a long nap in the fluffy duvets of the king's quarters.

Merlin wished Arthur would wake, but he did not want to push him. Instead, he put a kettle on the stove (hurriedly, just in case Arthur woke suddenly), and brought himself a book to read at the bedside. When the kettle whistled, Merlin magicked it to him and forced it to pour water into his mug. He poured steaming water into a spare mug as well, knowing it would be cold when Arthur woke up.

Unsure of how Arthur would react, Merlin kept all modern devices off and out of sight. The television was safely in the other room (as were the remains of the radio), he changed the lighting in his room from electric to candlelight, and he put odds and ends that might have suggested something strange into drawers and cabinets. He even pushed the bedroom door so it was only open by a crack, all contents of his living room invisible. The plan was to ease Arthur into the 21st century, not to hit him over the head with it.

For several hours, Merlin read. He got up once to retrieve paper and a quill, which were rare in his home (really, pens were so much more effective), but he found one. Any time Arthur showed signs of rousing, Merlin jerked in his chair, a little panicky. He watched intently with hands on his knees, eagerly waiting. But for those several hours, the king did not awake. He only snored, which made Merlin chuckle once he relaxed into his chair again.

Merlin was just about becoming massively impatient, rereading the same line in his book many times, when Arthur groaned, "Mmmmpf."

"Arthur?" Merlin asked cautiously, setting down his mug on the floor. The string and tag of the teabag slipped over the edge and sank into the liquid.

Merlin put his hand on Arthur's bare shoulder and repeated his name.

Arthur blinked; his eyelashes clung to one another for a moment and then peeled apart from one another. "Merlin," he said, finding the warlock's eyes.

"Yes, Arthur. How do you feel?" Merlin's eyebrows bunched and he put his palm against Arthur's cheek. The king tried to push himself up on his elbows, but he swore and shook his head and decided against it.

"Mmm. Tired. _Really _tired," Arthur said. "And… like I took a bath too long and my skin's shriveled up some. My head's…a bit foggy too." Arthur smacked his lips and closed his eyes again, which prompted Merlin to move his hand to Arthur's forehead.

"Well, you feel alright. No fever, nothing but a bit clammy, which can be expected."

"What?"

Merlin put his hand behind Arthur's head and lifted it. "Here, drink this," he offered. Arthur opened his eyes again and took a heavy gulp.

"Have I been ill? I can't remember a thing," he said. Arthur turned his head and looked past Merlin. "Where are we? Ealdor? Is this your mother's home?"

Merlin's stomach sank and he didn't speak.

"Merlin?"

He put his dread aside and smiled. Merlin hushed him and put on his best stern voice, "Arthur, you're tired. You need proper rest. I'll explain everything when you wake up, I promise."

"_Mer_lin," Arthur droned. But he smirked at the warlock and obeyed, snuggling his body deep into the mattress.

When the king was asleep once more, Merlin couldn't concentrate on reading or writing. He only watched Arthur and worried profusely over what exactly he would remember, and if that included the fact Merlin was a sorcerer.

***Note:** Don't worry readers! I know this ends on a sort of cliffhanger (maybe just a bit?) but it'll all work out, I promise.


	5. Chapter 5

***Note:** Here we go, a new chapter! You'll be seeing more of Arthur now, thank you for being patient! As for Merlin tossing the sword into the lake, I totally accept that it is canonically Freya (thank you for bringing that to my attention). I had felt, when watching it, that it was Arthur's spirit catching the sword. Oh well, it's not super relevant to the fic. (And perhaps Freya will be mentioned anyways!)

And, as always, thank you for your support! I hope you're all reading a lot of fic that helps you get through the end of the series.

**XXXX**

**Chapter 5**

When next Arthur woke up, Merlin had fallen asleep on the floor.

But sometime before he had dozed off, Merlin went back out to the lake, where he gathered Excalibur and all of Arthur's garments. Moving about helped him keep his mind off the near future and its possible (and other inevitable) qualms.

With all items bundled in his arms, he walked slowly back, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Yawning at his door, Merlin dropped everything onto his armchair. He ignored how Excalibur sliced through its fabric, from which its squashy white innards spilled out.

Merlin yawned again and covered his hand with his mouth. In his bedroom, he switched his sweater for a beige pajama top, and nearly tripped as he struggled to put it on. His eyes flared gold and one of the many blankets over Arthur was stripped from him and landed on the floor, where Merlin curled up. The king's hand was dangling over the bed; he was clearly in a deep sleep. With one last glance, one squeeze of the hand, and the tiniest of smiles, Merlin fell into a relatively peaceful sleep.

**XXXX**

Merlin woke to someone shaking his shoulder rather roughly.

"Merlin!" a voice shouted. "_Mer_lin!"

"'M sleeping," he responded, voice muffled in the pillow.

"Wake _up_!" A pillow hit his head and cleared all the sleep out of him. Merlin shot up.

"Arthur!" Merlin yelped. The king was still in bed, obviously wearing off the long effects of sleep but far more alert than he had been. Merlin wanted to shout, to hug Arthur, or do something equally embarrassing, but he restrained himself. Nevertheless, he couldn't help beaming. "How long have you been awake?"

"Just about five minutes," Arthur said, settling back down onto the pillows, but propping himself up with his elbows. "I got bored. Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

"Uh, I just fell asleep I guess. Arthur," Merlin began more seriously. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. Better than last night. Are we in Ealdor? I distinctly remember you'd tell me what is happening. Don't think you can skive off. And why do you look so pleased? Don't tell me I followed Gwaine to another one of his absurd nights in the tavern. Though that would explain my head feeling like it's full of cotton—"

"_Arthur_," Merlin said, kneeling beside the bed. "Tell me, what do you remember last?"

"I'm not sure," he replied.

Merlin shook his head. "No, _really _think. I need you to think about this Arthur, it's important." Arthur narrowed his eyes and looked at the warlock, who only stared back determinedly. "Think, Arthur. Try to remember."

The king closed his eyes and placed his head back down on the pillow. He didn't say anything for a long time and Merlin didn't interrupt the silence. But then, after a while, Arthur began to slowly speak, "We aren't in Ealdor are we?"

"No," was Merlin's answer.

"And we didn't spend the night at the tavern." Merlin shook his head, though Arthur wasn't looking. "And…and… We aren't in Camelot?"

Again, "No." Merlin bit his lip. "We aren't."

"Are we at Camlann?" This time, Arthur sat up, waiting for Merlin's answer.

"Not anymore, no."

"But we won?" Arthur's eyes were wide and confused, and Merlin could feel his own eyes stinging.

"Yeah, we won. You won, Arthur."

"I think…" Arthur shook his head, doubting himself. Merlin moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Yes?"

"It's just bits and pieces, right now. Hold on. Let me think." He stared down at the blankets, looking at nothing.

Merlin waited. He wanted to tell Arthur that everything was okay, not to panic, that the losses were great but the outcome was greater. But he didn't, he was only patient.

"Morgana's dead," he said. It was not a question. Arthur's lips were slightly parted, so Merlin could barely see his two sharp canine teeth behind them. Then Arthur lifted his eye line to meet Merlin's and said in a strangled voice, "You killed her."

"Yes."

Arthur breathed heavily and blinked rapidly. He spoke hastily, "I—I was _dying_. And you were there, trying to get me somewhere. And—," his eyebrows furrowed, "And, _gods, _Merlin. You're a sorcerer. You have magic."

Merlin wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Yes, Arthur. I have magic." He watched for Arthur's reaction, but the king said nothing. Merlin swallowed and lightly touched Arthur's shoulder, hoping to bring him out of whatever reverie he was in.

_He can't hate me, he can't hate me, he can't hate me_, Merlin thought, _Not now, not after all this time. _"Arthur?"

"How?"

Merlin felt like a boy again, as if his whole world were riding on that simple word. _How what_, he thought. _"How could you betray me? Betray Camelot? How did you learn magic? How did you survive without getting caught?" _

"Arthur, I—I didn't choose to study magic—"

The king raised his eyebrows. "No, you idiot. How did you get me into the Lake of Avalon? We were too far away from it."

Merlin stared at Arthur, not ready to respond to the question he asked.

"So you're okay with it...?"

"With what?"

"My magic," Merlin stuttered. "Me, being a sorcerer, a warlock, a wizard. You know, lying to you all those years. Technically being a traitor to the crown and all that."

"What? Yes, of course, _Mer_lin. I thought we'd already established that. It was hardly your fault." Arthur waved his hand in the air.

"Oh."

"Though we'll get to that eventually," Arthur added, a little bit overbearingly if Merlin did say so himself. "But back to the question: _how_, Merlin?"

"How did I get you into the lake?"

"Yes!" Arthur shouted, exasperated.

Merlin's chin wobbled a touch and when he spoke, he spoke tearfully, "I didn't, Arthur. I didn't get you into the lake. I failed you. I'm so sorry."

"What? Merlin, no, you must be tired. Worn out. I'm _alive_. I _was_ dying. _Clearly_, you did something. I can't feel the wound anymore and there's not even a bruise where it was." Arthur rubbed his bare chest where the stab wound had been and patted it roughly for good measure. "Look there, Merlin! I feel fine!"

"Arthur… no." Merlin shook his head, silent tears escaping him. His shoulders quivered. "You _died_, Arthur. I couldn't—I couldn't save you. Kilgharrah couldn't help. I yelled at him, I think. I don't know; I can't remember.

I pushed you out into the w-water. Threw your sword out and everything. I thought I could defy the prophecy but I _couldn't. _I was so arrogant.I should've killed Mordred when I had the chance, should've helped Morgana when she first needed it. I should've—should've—"

Merlin gulped.

"I failed you, Arthur. I said I would protect you, and I let you die."

Arthur couldn't understand Merlin's outburst, and Merlin knew that. But after centuries of holding it in, of flipping between blaming himself and feeling the right thing had happened (and feeling subsequently awful for feeling _that_), and now seeing Arthur again and feeling him really there and hearing his stupid voice and smelling the scent that was so positively _Arthur_, it was more than Merlin could bear.

"Die?" Arthur repeated. He tittered, but it was light and weak, not dismissive, as if he was not sure _what_ he believed.

Holding in dry sobs, Merlin wiped his eyes clear again, attempting to compose himself. Gods, it was incredible how Arthur made him feel like a child. He almost hated him for it, but of course he couldn't.

Merlin inhaled and let out one last rattled breath. He nodded his head.

Arthur watched him fixedly and said, "Well, Merlin, if you've got any _more _secrets you've been keeping from me, I suggest you let them out now."

Merlin laughed. There was a lot Arthur didn't know.

**XXXX**

***Note:** There's still so much I want them to discuss and do, but I didn't want this chapter to go on forever. And I wanted to publish it as soon as possible. More to come soon!


	6. Chapter 6

***Note:** Writing this before I write the chapter, I hope this section is a little longer than the last one, seeing as they've become steadily shorter. I started classes again recently, so I'm just getting back into the swing of things. Hopefully I can concentrate a little more on this fic as I ease into the winter quarter.

As always, thank you for your support!

PS How cool is it that modern fics aren't necessarily AU anymore? They could actually be in canonverse thanks to the last scene in 5.13!

**XXXX**

**Chapter 6**

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Alright, Merlin. Out with it."

Merlin shrugged his shoulders and said, "I don't know where to begin."

"The beginning is always a good place to start," Arthur pointed out. Merlin nibbled on his lower lip and fussed over the blankets that covered Arthur. Picking up the blanket on the floor that he had been using, he gathered it, leaving it in his lap, and folded his hands over it. "_Mer_lin."

"I know, sire, I know," Merlin breathed out. "It's just… complicated. And I'm afraid it's going to be hard to take in all at once."

The king rolled his eyes. "I think I can handle the fact you've done a little magic to get us safe."

"No, Arthur, you don't understand—"

"I am _try_ingto, but some idiot keeps putting it off!"

Merlin and Arthur glared at each other. Neither drew their eyes away until an exceptionally loud horn from a lorry sounded, causing Arthur to jump and yell, "What the hell was that!" The king drew up his legs, which wobbled slightly as his feet found the floor, and dashed to the window.

"Arthur—" Merlin spun around to see him pry the wooden panels open and look out.

"Merlin, what _was _that? I can't see anything. The damn lake is so foggy, it's hard to see in the dist—" He abruptly stopped talking and pulled his hand away from the window. "The lake," he repeated quietly. "I was in the lake."

"Arthur come sit down," Merlin said gently, leading him back to the bed. "I'll explain everything." Arthur found himself sitting back down on the bed, his back against the board and his knees drawn up. His bare feet wiggled themselves under a blanket. Merlin hauled the chair he had magicked aside the night before and sat in it, facing the king.

"Tell me again," Merlin said. "What do you remember? But not from where you started before—what do you remember about the lake?"

Arthur sighed and rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand. "I—" he drawled, "remember dying and I remember you having magic, and I remember trying to get to the lake but it was too late. And then just… nothing."

"Are you sure?"

Arthur screwed up his face in concentration. "There was… but I'm not sure. It was probably only a dream."

"No, it could be important. What was it?"

"A woman."

"A woman?" Merlin blinked. He had not expected that.

"Yes." Arthur paused. "She was… young, definitely young. About our age, maybe a little younger. She had dark hair." Arthur mimicked wavy hair with his hands about his head. "And she was smiling. I think she spoke to me, but I can't remember what she said. I liked her, though. She was warm."

Merlin's eyes lit up with pride and sadness. "Freya."

"And then I was wet, _really_ wet. And then you were there, and then I woke up and here we are." Merlin nodded. "Sooo, _obviously_, _Mer_lin. You got me into the lake, I was healed, and now you've brought me back here—" Arthur gestured grandly to his surroundings, "Which _smells, _quite frankly, overwhelmingly of herbs. No offense to the owners, however," Arthur added, suddenly peering around Merlin as if an old married couple would appear behind him, highly insulted.

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I don't think you could possibly offend the owner more than you already have."

"Excuse me?"

"I live here. I'm the owner."

"Sorry, didn't catch that. It sounded like _you _live here."

"Because that's what I said."

"_Mer_lin."

"Honestly!" Merlin grinned. "I do. Sorry it's not up to your royal standards."

Arthur shifted so his legs hung over the bed and he was facing Merlin directly. He scratched the bridge of his nose and then said, "Then pray_ tell_, Merlin, how is it you've purchased a cottage when I couldn't have been out for more than three—four days tops."

Merlin laid his hand on Arthur's forearm. "Arthur, I know it's hard, but you _have _to believe me. What I'm about to tell you will come as a shock, and it's going to take time to adjust, but I'm here and I always will be and I promise I'll do what I—"

"Well, spit it out!"

Merlin sharply exhaled. "Arthur, this is the 21st century. You _did _die from Mordred's blow. Like you said, I was trying to get you into the Lake of Avalon, but we didn't make it." Merlin's voice caught, but he quickly reasserted himself and carried on. "There was nothing I could do, nothing _anyone _could do. If there had been, I would've done it. You know that. But there just wasn't. I pushed you out on a boat and watched you float away on the lake. That was a little over fifteen hundred years ago, Arthur."

Arthur said nothing, so Merlin continued.

"I was told you would rise again, when Albion was in its greatest need. I don't quite understand why that is now, but here you are. It doesn't matter. You've returned, Arthur. And I've been waiting for you."

Arthur stammered and shook his head. "But if I died hundreds of years ago, how could you possibly still be alive as well? Unless you were to 'rise again' also?"

"No. I've not—I haven't died, Arthur. I don't think I can. I've been alive all these years. I was an old man, but that changed when you came back."

"_How_?"

"Magic," Merlin said simply. "Obviously, not all sorcerer's are immortal, in fact I don't think any of them are. I'm a special case. I _think _I know why, but that's a tale for another day."

Merlin watched Arthur keenly as he attempted to process this information.

"So," Arthur began. "If what you're saying is true, and _I'm _not saying I quite believe you yet, but if that's all true…If this is your home now and I've _arisen _or whatever…Why me?"

Merlin laughed as if the answer were obvious. Arthur raised his eyebrows. "You're Once and Future King, Arthur! You were Albion's greatest king and apparently it needs you to be that again. You know, destiny."

There was, again, a brief period in which Arthur did not speak. Merlin's thumb grazed back and forth against Arthur's wrist comfortingly, as the king mulled things over. "Where is," Arthur lifted his eyes to Merlin, "Where is Guinevere?"

_Oh_. Merlin moved fully back into his chair, away from Arthur. He hated this question. "Arthur, I'm so sorry. Gwen died a long time ago. But she was a good queen. The best. You would have been so proud of her."

Arthur nodded.

"She ruled over Camelot's Golden Age. She lifted the ban and made me Court Sorcerer. Eventually people with magic, the Druids especially, began to move into Camelot. They revered her, they _adored _her. And the knights were honored to call her Queen. Of course it took time, but there _was _peace between my people and those without magic. She was so good, Arthur, to me and to all of her people." Merlin reached out to squeeze his hand.

"Was she—" It seemed difficult for Arthur to speak. "Was she happy?"

Merlin smiled sadly. "She lost so many people she loved, Arthur. You, her father, her brother. I think it was hard on her. But she wasn't alone. I can promise you that, she was never alone. I stayed with her, you know. Stayed with her in the court and sometimes when she went into the town.

"When she lifted the ban, I had already been made Court Sorcerer. Before then, I was the only exception and she gave me clemency for my magic. But we worked together a lot and I've always been her friend, Arthur, you know that, don't you? I've always cared for Gwen. If she ever left the city for a few days, I was with her, for company and in case she needed protection." Merlin laughed. "Not that she did really. A few years after you died, Gwen became quite handy with a sword. Took care of herself really well. People liked that about her. She lived a full life. There was a massive memorial for her when she died. Hundreds of people came. People across kingdoms, even, from all over Albion's lands."

Merlin could see Arthur was crying now, but the warlock did not acknowledge his tears out loud. And after several minutes, Arthur said, "Thank you" and Merlin knew he would heal. It would take time, and he would miss her and he would miss his men, but Merlin knew that he would heal.

Squinting, Merlin looked out the window. The sun was high in the sky and it was almost midday. Light filtered in and bounced off the wood floors. Arthur's face was stained with tears but he had stopped weeping. He too looked out at the sky.

Merlin hopped onto his feet and held out his hand to Arthur. "I know you still have a lot of questions, probably. But if I know you, and I still think I do, you're going to be grouchy in a few minutes if we don't get some food in you."

"Breakfast?"

"Yeah," Merlin smiled. "Come on."

"Good." Arthur smiled and took Merlin's hand, bringing himself to his feet. "I'm starving."

**XXXX**

***Note: **Well, that concludes this chapter! Having broken the news to Arthur now, I hope the next few chapters will focus less solely on dialogue and more on a mixture of dialogue and action. You know, have the pair moving out and about!


	7. Chapter 7

***Note: **Wow! 100 reviews! Thank you all so much :)

**XXXX**

**Chapter 7 **

Eggs sizzled on the stove. Arthur sat at the humble kitchen table, hands spread out against the top of it. He was currently regarding the direction in which Merlin stood warily. Whether he was suspicious of the oven or the sorcerer's use of magic to turn it on, Merlin did not know. Arthur did not speak as Merlin opened the refrigerator to retrieve juice and some meat, simply watched.

"I'm sorry I don't have a lot of meat. I wasn't exactly expecting company," Merlin smiled.

He moved busily around the kitchen, cleaning fruit, cooking the meat, and piling it with the eggs atop a pair of plates. All the while Arthur remained silent, so Merlin began to talk of his own accord, filling the silence. It wasn't until a few minutes in he realized how little he spoke to other people. When he travelled, he travelled in solitude, only speaking with those he met in bookstores or restaurants, or perhaps passed on the street. Often, they had been genial conversations but they were always fleeting; Merlin rarely kept in contact with anyone. His neighbors avoided him and he did the same. It was easier that way, not having to explain his occupation (or lack thereof) and his unusually long lifespan, which may go have gone unnoticed for some time but could not forever. Yes, it was certainly a lonely life Merlin led.

Yet it wasn't company in general Merlin periodically found himself hankering after. It was familiar company: Gwen, the knights, Gaius, and above all, Arthur.

But, at the moment, Arthur could hardly be considered company. The only reply Merlin acquired in his wandering, one-sided conversation was an occasional grunt or sharp nod of the head.

"This, Arthur," Merlin said as he put away the juice, "Is a refrigerator. Fridge, for short. It's like an ice box, though I'm not sure if you'd know what that is either… It keeps food cold so it lasts longer. Really useful. The big box thing I cooked the eggs on is an oven. I don't have to use fire to cook things. It's great. Much faster."

Merlin dropped two full plates (Arthur's visibly fuller) on the round kitchen table that Arthur sat at and handed him a fork. Merlin sat across from Arthur and immediately began to eat, not realizing how hungry he had been and how little he had eaten over the past few days. The king, however, poked and prodded at his food, only nibbling at the meat and warm apples.

"I thought you said you were starving," Merlin said, mouth full of eggs.

"I am. I think."

"Look, Arthur," Merlin said, putting his own fork down and swallowing. "I know this is difficult. I know it's strange and confusing, but you've got to make some effort. You've only been back for about a day or so, now, and it's going to take time. But it'll get better, I promise."

"Oh, do you?" Arthur's eyes flashed as he set down his fork with a little too much energy.

"Yes, Arthur."

"Because, _Mer_lin, as far as I can tell, things aren't working out quite so well and I don't really see how they'll improve." Merlin attempted to interrupt him, but the king spoke first.

"Let's see," he said, holding up his hand and counting his fingers. "One: I've apparently been _dead _for centuries. Two: you, somehow, are magically immortal. And let's not forget that you are, evidently, the most powerful sorcerer of all time, which I spent about a _decade_ being oblivious to. Three: my wife is dead, my men are dead. I don't know where the _hell _we are, really. We aren't in Camelot, but we're in Albion? Is it even _called _Albion still?

"Is there a king now? Am I supposed to overthrow him, take his job? You said I'm _meant _to be here, and now that I've risen from the dead, I've got a job to do, to fix the entire kingdom, I suppose. And let me tell you, after being under water for _fifteen hundred_ years, that sounds just about the last thing I want to do.

"That—that _thing_ you've been cooking with is completely ridiculous, as are most of the other things I've seen here so far and I can just _imagine _what other inane machinery I'm going to come across when I go outside!

"Please, Merlin, do tell me how _exactly_ things are going to get better." Arthur glared at Merlin. In his rant, he had knocked his glass of juice over, which now seeped orange into the cracks of the wood floor.

Merlin tore his eyes away from Arthur and silently grabbed a rag from the kitchen sink, with which he proceeded to wipe the juice up.

Arthur sighed and yanked his hair out of frustration. "Look, Merlin, I didn't mean all that."

"Yes, you did," Merlin said from where he was kneeling. Feeling that his eyes were red, Merlin didn't want Arthur to see him crying so he kept his them fixed on the circular motion he made with the rag, even after there was no spill left. He sniffed.

"Merlin..."

The warlock threw the rag down on the floor with such force, Arthur instantly shut up. Merlin slapped his hands onto his thighs and looked up at the king, his eyes becoming dry. If Arthur was bitter, Merlin was tenfold.

"No, no, no. You don't get to apologize. Listen, I know you're angry and that's okay. I get that. It's not your fault, you didn't ask for this. But do you think I did? Do you think I wanted to lose my best friend and then live hundreds of years by myself? Being Court Sorcerer was great and all, and Gwen was there and so were some of the knights, but do you think that made up for it all? I lived ten years, Arthur, _ten years_, thinking it was my destiny to protect you and that if you die, so would Albion, so would the freedom of my people. And then I found out that you dying had been the plan all along! Your life as well as mine had been marked out from the start.

"There could have been no Albion without you, Arthur, but there also could be Albion _with _you. Those ten years were me, making sure you were protected, until the moment you were _supposed _to die, so everyone else could live. Do you know how angry that made me? _Makes_ me? To think your purpose in life will bring about the greatest change the world has known for you _and_ your king? To think you would get to live with him and see Camelot's Golden Age? Together?

"All that ever mattered, Arthur, was that you knew who I am. And I got one day. _One_. And then you were gone.

Sometimes," Merlin seethed, "I'm not sure it was worth it. I lived through all that, made it so you could become a great king, and what was I left with? A title and centuries of nothing. Maybe it would've been better if I hadn't tried so hard to bring magic back to the realm. Just let you live, let you rule without me interrupting. Keep magic banned. Maybe you wouldn't have died then."

"You don't mean that, Merlin."

"Why not?!" He stood and looked down at Arthur, shaking.

"Sometimes—sometimes," he choked, "I think being made to live all these years is my punishment for letting you die. It's my form of penance."

"Merlin, _no_." Arthur also stood and grabbed Merlin by the forearms and shook him lightly. All the aggravation drained from him and was replaced with worry. Merlin could see his face was pale and his lips were drawn tightly. He shook him again a little. "Listen to me, Merlin. It is _not _your fault that I died. It was my duty to the kingdom. It is not your fault we battled at Camlann. It is not your fault that Mordred turned, or Morgana."

"If I had just—"

"I said _no_, Merlin. When are you going to start listening to me?" Merlin sighed. "Okay? Hm?" the king asked. Merlin felt himself nodding dumbly, head bowed. Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin's arms before trailing down to his hands, about to let go. But at his fingers, Arthur noticed their tips were red with soreness and new abrasions.

"Merlin, what's this?" he said, holding up the warlock's hand.

"Nothing."

"_Mer_lin."

"It's just from pulling you out of the lake. Chainmail caught on my fingers," he muttered.

"Hopeless. Whatever are we going to do with you?" Arthur tried to joke.

Merlin responded with a feeble grin. He felt weak, his energy emptied out. Arthur led Merlin back down to his seat at the table.

"Idiot," Arthur said fondly.

"Prat."

Arthur smiled. "There we are, back to your usual rubbish self now, are we?"

Merlin laughed softly and rubbed his sleeve over his eyes. "I'm sorry, Arthur. It's just strange, having you back. It doesn't feel real yet. I'm not sure what to do."

"You did say that… what was it? I was to return when 'Albion was in its greatest need?' What do you suppose that means?"

"'M not sure," Merlin said, shrugging. "Though… honestly, I think we could go a few days without destiny."

Arthur laughed and clamped his hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Yes. Yes, I think so."

Together they sat in silence for a while, eating heartily, after Merlin had refilled Arthur's glass of juice. When they finished, Merlin took both his and Arthur's plates. He carried them to the skin and momentarily hesitated before manually scrubbing them clean. He squirted dish soap out of a bottle when Arthur said, "Why don't you just use magic?"

Merlin stopped cleaning and looked over his shoulder. "It won't bother you?"

"Well," said Arthur. "It's certainly going to take some time getting use to, but I think I can cope," he added sarcastically.

"Alright," said Merlin, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes turned gold and the dinnerware washed themselves, floating in the air then plunking into the water to rinse. Arthur watched with fascination and a little uneasiness. As a cloth dried the plates of its own accord, Merlin again sat across from Arthur.

"So, erm… What do you want to do?"

"What?"

"Well, it's not as though you've got anywhere to be and neither have I. So what do you want to put in the day's agenda? We're not going out into town, yet," Merlin warned.

"Ha, no. I don't think I'm quite ready for that."

"Agreed."

"That's a first."

"Well. Don't expect it often," Merlin teased. "It's just new century and all that. Messes with your mind for a bit."

"Is it?" Arthur asked, frowning.

"Oh. Erm, yes. Sort of. It's still early in the 21st century. Feels like just a few days ago, for me, though." Merlin fingered the end of his beige sleeve with his other hand, feeling rather uncomfortable on the subject of his immortality, especially so soon after their argument. "Anyways," he said, moving the conversation along. "What to do?"

"Well," Arthur smiled. "I wouldn't mind see more of your shabby home. _Really_, _Mer_lin, do try to take better care of it in the future. The place is a mess. Lazy as always."

"Hey!"

"It's true! Almost as bad as my quarters." They both laughed and once again felt at ease.

"Alright," Merlin said. "I'll show you around. Just to warn you, though, there's probably going to be some stuff that may seem weird to you. Magic and modern. You'll get used to it and I can explain whatever you want. Just let me know.

"We'll start with the outside and then come back in. It gets dark early and it can be hard to see through the fog."

The two returned to the bedroom to put their socks and boots on, Merlin also pulling on his Sherpa coat and a red scarf. Arthur mimicked Merlin in attempting to dress himself in warmer clothes. As he gathered his chainmail, Merlin interrupted.

"No, no way, Arthur." He put his hand over Arthur's and tried to push the chainmail away.

"Why not?"

"No one wears chainmail anymore. You'll stick out like a sore thumb."

"Not even knights?"

Merlin laughed. "Especially not knights."

"What about in battle?"

"They were different stuff, now."

"We're only going out around your cottage."

"So?"

"_So_, idiot, no one will see me but you."

"But, Arthur, you need to get used to the way things are now, clothing included."

"It's cold outside! I'm not going out in just my tunic."

"Then borrow something of mine. I have plenty of jackets and hoodies and coats."

Arthur shook his head, with petulant stubbornness. Merlin sighed with good-natured annoyance.

"_Fine_. Just today, though, alright? There is absolutely no way I'm going around town with you dressed like that. We'd probably get arrested for being loonies. You'd look even more like a dollophead than usual."

Merlin aided Arthur in pulling the chainmail over his head, finding his belt, and convincing him not to carry his sword out.

"How much land do you have?" Arthur asked curiously.

"Not much… I don't need a lot. Just the area around here. Most people don't really venture out this far, though."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm the strange old man of the neighborhood. Besides, most people don't really _see _my cottage. They just don't come out here."

"Because the smell of your cottage repulses them?"

"_Ha-ha_. Actually, I think it's just… _difficult_ for them to see it. Kids come out here every few years, but children are always more perceptive than adults. It's been said that you can only truly see Avalon right before you die. Most people only get a glimpse. But we've both got an…unorthodox relationship with death, so I think that's why it doesn't affect us. I think—I've never actually asked—that for most people it's just a haze and they pass by. It just doesn't show up on their radar."

"Right."

Merlin opened his front door and let Arthur walk through first. "Well," he said, grinning. "Let me take you on the grand tour. Try not to be too envious."

"Very funny, Merlin."


	8. Chapter 8

***Note: **I'm sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up. School has been keeping me very busy, especially my creative writing classes. But never fear! I am definitely continuing the fic.

**XXXX**

**Chapter 8**

The sun was not quite so high in the sky anymore, and it was just slinking down towards mid-afternoon. Mist from the lake largely abated in the land facing away from Avalon and all together disappeared at the road some yards further down. Merlin, however, was sure to stay clear of the road for just now. Instead, upon opening his cottage door and opening Arthur's eyes to 21st century Britain, Merlin meandered with the king in a rather tight circle around his home.

On the form-fitting skirt of the cottage was Merlin's garden, which he usually handled with the upmost care. This day, however, Arthur was quick to point out how it resembled the forests around the Dark Tower, unruly and verging on lackluster.

"Well, been busy," said Merlin.

"Busy doing what?" Merlin gave Arthur a pointed look with wide eyes and Arthur said, "Oh, me, being _returned _and all that. You know, Merlin," Arthur put his hands on his hips, one where he sword should have been, "I _really _don't care for calling what I am 'returned.'" The king waved a hand around his head. "Is there any possibility of giving it another name? Or not at all, perhaps?"

Merlin paused to think, leaning against the cobblestone wall of his cottage. "Well," he began, smirking. "Not unless you prefer 'undead' or 'zombie' or 'resurrection' and there's no way I'm saying you've been resurrected. Makes you sound far too pretentious, and your head's already as wide as your waist. I think 'returned' is going to have to be the one. But it's not as though we need to harp on it. We both know what happened, and we certainly won't be telling anyone else any time soon, right?"

"Right. So, _Mer_lin, let's see what you've done with yourself since I've been gone. I'm surprised you haven't burned the place down yet!" The king shoved Merlin lightly who made a face of mock offense.

The pair then wheeled around the garden, with Merlin pointing out specific plants and flowers excitedly. It was not so much that he was eager to share his gardening tips with the king—who was doing a horrible job of seeming interested—but it was that everything felt more precious and lovelier when he could share it with Arthur, the green hedge included.

At one point, as Merlin was gushing over periwinkle morning glories that had actually inched up the side of his cottage, Arthur interrupted him. "I cannot believe you're meant to be the world's greatest sorcerer to ever live and you're waxing on about daisies."

"Morning glories."

"Whatever."

"Well, fine, then. Let's go round the back further, and I'll show you my horses."

At that mention, Arthur's ears perked up a bit. "You've horses?"

"Yes, two of them."

"Really. As I recall, you're not much of a rider."

"No, I'm not really. But I like having them around, and I do take them out every so often. I wouldn't want them to feel cooped up in their stable all day every day. That wouldn't be fair."

Arthur laughed. "No, certainly not. So, why do you have them?" he asked as they both strolled downhill slightly, to flatter land.

"Oh… you know," Merlin said, hands in his pockets.

"No, I don't know. And don't try to be all mysterious, Merlin. It doesn't suit you."

"Okay, Arthur. We'll do it your way. I keep them because they remind me of Camelot. And…"

"And what?"

"And in case you ever came back, I thought you might want to go riding one day." Merlin smiled sadly at Arthur.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Merlin didn't speak until they reached the stables, wondering if Arthur thought he was being overly sentimental, _such a girl_, he could almost hear him say, or if he had actually been touched by the gesture. The warlock glanced at the king from the corner of his eye and he saw him picking awkwardly at his belt. Merlin smiled to himself, fully aware, that though Arthur was not always so good with words, his body language had always been thoroughly decipherable. Merlin concluded Arthur was indeed, at least the tiniest bit, affected by his planning ahead.

"Here we are. Two horses, one stable, a forest to the left, and not many people. We can go for a ride someday soon, if you like." Merlin gently ran his hand down one of the horses' mane.

"Hm, yes, I would," Arthur said distractedly. He watched Merlin gather feed from the back of the stable and then asked, "How many horses have you had?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Overall, I mean. If I've been dead for 1,500 years like you said, that's a lot of horses."

"Erm, well, yeah, I've had a few." Merlin handed Arthur a second bucket, which he held while Merlin filled it with grains and berries. "I've not always had two, though. I spent a long time away from here, after Gwen died."

"Oh?" Arthur swallowed. Merlin knew he was treaded a painful subject for the king, and so quickly after his return, but Merlin felt if there was any way to approach a conversation between two men who were vaguely 1530 years old, it was with the truth. How often he gave the truth, although, was another matter. There were some stories that would have to come in time.

"I, erm, left Camelot and travelled. Learned some stuff, did a lot of reading and walking. Just… kept busy." Merlin absently patted his horse while Arthur's eyes bore into him. "I didn't keep two horses until I decided to permanently stay here. Not that all I do is sit around here and wait for you but…"

Arthur cleared his throat. "So, can't you just—" he wiggled his fingers in front of Merlin's face "—magic them immortal? Then you wouldn't have to keep getting new ones."

Merlin stifled a laugh. "No, no, that's not how magic works."

"Please, _Mer_lin, as if I'm supposed to know that?" Arthur asked, with raised eyebrows and crossed arms.

"You can't just give something life like that! If I could do that, you wouldn't have died and things would have been much much easier. To give a life, you have to take a life. It's all about balance. And besides, even if you give a life, nothing can keep it alive forever."

"Except you."

"Um, yeah. Except me." Suddenly, Merlin felt wildly uncomfortable in the king's presence and he tensely thought Arthur maybe realized that while he had accepted Merlin's magic, and was thankful for him and loved him, there were a thousand other things that Merlin still kept hidden away that Arthur did not know. Maybe Arthur thought he did not know Merlin after all, and the hundreds of years stowed away in his head in addition to the lies told when he had been alive were simply more coatings that had to be painfully peeled away.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, _Mer_lin, as much as I enjoy spending time with your horses, it _does _smell like a stable and I suppose I can't technically order you to muck them out, but, really Merlin, you need to muck them out."

On the way back to Merlin's cottage, the sorcerer explained that there was not too much else to see outside. While the sun was falling down to dusk and the cold began to settle into Arthur's chainmail, the king asked, "How exactly have you managed to stay alive all these years?"

Merlin looked to him and furrowed his eyebrows. "It's not as though I've _tried _to be immortal. It just happened." He hugged himself and brushed his hands up and down his arms fervently to warm himself.

"When?"

"Camlann. I think. Or, well…"

"_Mer_lin."

"I've got some theories."

"Any you'd like to share?"

"Not at the moment, no," Merlin said harshly. Arthur looked taken aback slightly, unused to anything besides mock rudeness from his former servant. "Sorry," Merlin muttered, sensing Arthur's confusion. "It's just that once I start to explain one thing then that leads to another and another, and soon I'll be telling you my whole life story." They reached the gate to the cottage and Merlin held it open for Arthur to walk through.

"I wouldn't mind hearing it," Arthur said quietly as he passed through the entrance.

Merlin sighed. "I know. I know I owe it to you too, but I'm just not ready to tell you yet, and I don't think you're ready either. When you spend centuries keeping it to yourself, you can't just spill it all out in a matter of days."

"I understand."

"You sure?"

"_Yes_, Merlin."

"Alright. There's a lot of other stuff we can talk about though, and things I need to show you before we go out anywhere." Merlin pulled open the door to his cottage and again let Arthur go in before him. _Habits die hard,_ he thought.

"Such as? There can't be _that _much."

"Well, for starters, there are cars and batteries and televisions and electric lamps, outlets, Starbucks, world wars, microwaves, indoor plumbing, showers, and computers and hotels and airplanes and—"

"Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"All I'm saying is there's a lot—"

"Yes, yes, I get it." Arthur sat down at the kitchen table and tugged off his boots. "Merlin? Help me get out of this chainmail."

"Yes, sire." Merlin stumbled and Arthur looked up. "I mean… Arthur." The king laughed and Merlin's cheeks flushed. "It's not _that _unusual!"

"Merlin," Arthur chuckled, "I've been _dead _for centuries. I hardly think you need to call me 'sire' anymore. You're not my servant."

"I said I wouldn't be."

"What?"

"Before, in Camelot, when you asked if I'd be your servant in the next life, I said no."

Arthur smiled and said, "Well, at least you're a man of your word. Now, come here and help me." Together, they managed to get Arthur out of his chainmail with nearly the same precision as they used to. Stripped down to his trousers and white tunic, with the chainmail sitting idly on the seat next to him, Arthur shuddered. "It's a bit cold in here, don't you think?"

Merlin, who was still clad in his outerwear, did not respond, but caught with his eye a few unlit candles and said, "_Forbearne_." Five candles and the fireplace in his living room sparked, and Merlin said, "It'll heat up soon. Are you hungry? We missed lunch."

Arthur nodded dumbly, staring at the now blazing fireplace. Merlin unwrapped the scarlet scarf from around his neck, hung his coat on the rack, and scurried into the kitchen. "That's amazing," Arthur said.

"What, it's just curry," Merlin said, grabbing the leftover Indian food from the refrigerator. Over the years, Merlin had come to fancy himself an expert in foreign foods.

"No, not that, you idiot," said Arthur, rolling his eyes. "Your magic. The way you can light fires just like that."

"Oh, erm, that's pretty simple, actually. Anyone with an ounce of magic in them could do that." Merlin busily made dinner for the two of them, while Arthur watched, interested this time in each contraption Merlin used to cook.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Microwave. Heats things up."

"I thought the oven did that."

"It does."

"So why do you need two things?"

"Well, they both heat things but in different ways. You can't cook meals in a microwave. Usually. Definitely can't bake. It just warms it."

Together they ate and joked and only tread lightly on the subject of Camelot. Merlin laughed loudly at Arthur's wide-eye expression when the spicy food hit his tongue, to which Arthur blushed but then quickly boxed Merlin's ear. Arthur, of course, quickly became accustomed to the new food and told Merlin that he looked forward to trying all different kinds, from anywhere and everywhere. Merlin grinned and said that he knew, even in his wildest dreams, Arthur would never find an aversion to any type of food, except perhaps tofu.

"Avalon is out the front, yes?" Arthur asked, nodded in the lake's direction.

"Yes," Merlin said, mouth full of food.

"Can you see it well from here?"

"Yeah, sometimes."

"I'd like to see it."

"Why?"

"Because, Merlin."

"Oh, okay. That really clears things up," Merlin said sarcastically.

"If you must know_, Mer_lin, it's because Avalon is probably the only thing that hasn't changed since I died and while this is nice and all, that's something I'd like to see."

"Oh—oh," Merlin stuttered, wiping his hands down on his trousers. "Yeah, 'course. No problem. Are you done…?" Arthur nodded and Merlin took his and Arthur's dishes and piled them into the sink. He looked out the window. "The sun's going to set within the hour, over Avalon. Do you want to… I dunno… sit outside and watch?"

Arthur nodded. "Okay, well, there are a few blankets in my bedroom that you'd been using. Why don't you go get a pair of them and go outside, and I'll make some tea and meet you out there?"

"Sure, Merlin." The king yawned and stretched in his chair before he got up and retrieved the blankets. "Meet you outside," he said, closing the door.

While finding a second mug and filling them with boiling water, Merlin fretted over his and Arthur's situation. For Merlin, the past few centuries had been difficult, torturous at times even, but he always got through them. It was always much easier to deal with his own pain than anyone else's, particularly Arthur's. As he dipped in the tea bags, Merlin pondered over how quickly and how devastatingly Arthur's own thoughts could change from intense interest and happiness to sorrow and nostalgia. And even more so, Merlin worried that the time would soon come when he had to explain all he had done and all he had actively _not_ done during his tumultuous life.


	9. Chapter 9

***Note:** Two things. 1.) I'd like to thank my friend Katie (dunstable on Tumblr) for making the beautiful cover art for this fic. And 2.) Congrats to Colin Morgan for winning at the NTAs. It seems Merlin got at least some semblance of a happy ending now!

Oh, and I know this is a slow-paced fic, but it's really how I want to write it because I don't think Merlin and Arthur would be up and running so soon after what happened to them.

**XXXX**

Merlin magicked open the door and kept it open with his foot as he carried two steaming mugs outside. Arthur was bundled in a maroon blanket that draped over his shoulders; an olive green one sat in a disheveled pile next to him. He was leaned against the wall of the cottage, his legs stretched out.

"Tea, Arthur," Merlin said, handing it to the king. "Careful. Grab the handle. It's hot." Arthur rolled his eyes but when a speck of water flew over the mug's circumference and onto Arthur's hand, he hissed. "Told you so," said Merlin. He placed his own mug onto the grass and steadied it so it would topple over as he sat cross-legged beside Arthur. Merlin pulled his blanket over his shoulders as well and blew on the hot air rising from his tea. He whispered a spell, which instantly cooled down the mug, but not its contents. He felt Arthur eyeing him and Merlin turned to him and said, "You want me to cool yours down too?"

"Sure," said Arthur. He watched curiously as Merlin repeated the spell and then changed the subject.

"It's almost sunset. Are you cold?"

"I'm fine," said Arthur. There was a pause between the friends during which Merlin stared at the ground and Arthur fingered the string of his tea bag. But then Arthur said, "I can't believe this is where I was for 1,500 years." He looked out at the lake and the tiny island of Avalon that was shrouded in fog.

"Did it feel that long?"

"No. It felt like sleeping. But with dreams."

"Dreams?" Merlin asked. He looked at Arthur. "Good ones?"

"I suppose so. I felt warm. Not like I was in water at all. I'm starting to remember a little bit. Just a little. I don't think I'll ever remember all of it. Just images."

"What of?"

"Light. Blue air. A woman with dark hair and kind eyes. My men," Arthur swallowed. "Not anyone in particular, but they felt familiar. I think Gwen was there too. A blonde woman. She was the warmest. I think—I think she was my mother."

"Sounds nice," said Merlin uneasily, looking out at the water.

"It was."

"I'm sorry—I'm sorry you had to leave."

"Wasn't your fault. Besides, it was missing something."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You weren't there."

Merlin felt his stomach turn and he looked at Arthur, who was staring at him. He expected an "idiot" thrown into the conversation's mix, but he didn't get one. He wondered if his death had made Arthur more serious. Or perhaps more appreciative. Still, the guilt Merlin felt for pulling Arthur away from some semblance of peace subsided just a little. Maybe he had been selfish, wanting Arthur back, but at least it hadn't been completely one-sided. Arthur took a sip of his tea and looked out where the sun was setting. The sky was colored orange and red and puffs of clouds scattered.

Merlin sighed. "Arthur, I owe you some explanations."

Arthur adjusted against the wall and faced Merlin. "About time, idiot!" _Ah, there it is_, Merlin thought.

"Not everything," Merlin amended in a rush. "But I'll tell you some. You deserve that and I'm sorry that I've been keeping things from you." Merlin picked at his sleeve and then took a sip of tea.

"Well?" asked Arthur, impatiently.

"Well, there's a lot," said Merlin. "What do you want to know?" He could see Arthur's brain ticking away, trying to think of the perfect answer. The sun lowered more and its light reflected off of Arthur's blonde hair. Merlin bit his lip and watched the king nervously, knowing he'd answer whatever question he put to him.

"Magic," said Arthur, landing decisively on a question. Merlin might have guessed: if he were Arthur, he would have been itching to know more. "Why you? Why _me?_"

"What does that mean?" asked Merlin, brows furrowing.

"I _mean_, _Mer_lin, why is it _you _who has magic? Why are you the most powerful sorcerer to live, or whatever the title is. And why did you decide to help me? Hm?" Arthur prodded.

"Fate. Destiny," said Merlin, shrugging.

"Oh, come off it, Merlin!" Arthur moved his whole body away from the lake's direction to look at Merlin. "You're _not _getting away with a two-word answer."

"I know, I know," said Merlin. He stumbled for the right words. "Well, I have this theory…" he began.

"Yes?"

"Right, Arthur. If I tell you, don't get upset. I don't mean to insult your father, I mean I might, but don't get too upset, okay?"

"What does this have to do with my father?" Arthur said, looking genuinely confused.

"A lot. At least, I think."

"Right…" said Arthur, slowly. "Well, spill the beans."

Merlin too moved to face Arthur instead of the lake. He removed the blanket from his shoulders and folded it and set it in his lap. He took a deep breath and began, "Okay. Twenty years before I was born, and you one year before that, Uther began the Great Purge, right?"

"I suppose so."

"Yes. And I'm sorry I have to tell you this—I know it's a lot to take in—but it's important. Arthur," Merlin grabbed the king's wrist and Arthur blinked. "Do you remember when you followed Morgause and she showed you a vision of your mother?"

"Yes, of course I do. But I don't see what this—"

"Just _listen_," Merlin interrupted. "She told you something. What was that?"

"That my father was responsible for her death. _Really_, Merlin. Do we have to talk about this?"

"Yes. Uther said it wasn't true, but it is."

"What?" Arthur. "Merlin…"

"It is. I promise. I'm sorry I never told you the truth. Your father unwittingly gave your mother's life for your own. Nimueh made it happen. Magic demands a price, it demands balance, remember? A life can't be given without a life being taken."

Arthur shook his head. "But my father would _never_ have gone to a _sorceress _for help."

"That was before he hated magic. You were born of magic, Arthur."

"_I?_" Arthur said disbelievingly.

"And that's one reason why, Arthur. That's one reason why you and I are connected. I was born of magic too, but in a different way." Arthur looked at the ground. Merlin could see that his eyes were wet and full, but he wasn't crying; he held it in. "Arthur?" Merlin grabbed his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Merlin," he replied. He looked up again. "Go on."

Merlin looked concernedly at the king before he continued. "Well, in the Great Purge hundreds of magical beings were killed. People, creatures, anything, really. And it lasted a whole year."

"Yes, I know."

"Well, after that year was up, I was born."

"So?"

"So, all that magic from the earth was wiped clean when Uther killed sorcerers, dragons, Druids… But magic doesn't just go away like that. It's reused. It comes up somewhere else. Magic demands balance. And I _think_," Merlin said, "I think that the magic Uther took away ended up in me."

Merlin stopped talking and waited for Arthur's reaction. He looked intrigued and confused at once, and perhaps, Merlin feared, a little angry.

"I've been able to do magic since I was born, Arthur, since before I could talk. Before I could control it, I just acted on instinct."

"That's why you can't die," said Arthur. "You're living out all the lives of the magic beings my father killed."

"I think so," said Merlin quietly. "My magic is connected to the earth and as long as it exists, so will I."

"Oh."

"Are you mad?" asked Merlin. He felt a little childish, but he didn't care.

To Merlin's surprise, a grin broke over Arthur's face and then he laughed. "Why on _earth _would I be mad?"

"I dunno," said Merlin sheepishly. "I've been lying to you for ages, and about something so personal. It's almost like I knew more about your family than you did and that doesn't seem fair."

"No, it's not," Arthur agreed. "But it's not your fault either. It's my father's," he said firmly.

"So you're not angry?"

"_No_, Merlin. Bewildered, maybe. But not angry."

"Good," said Merlin smiling.

"Idiot," said Arthur, pulling Merlin's head under his arm.

"Ow!" said Merlin.

Arthur laughed and let go, and Merlin found himself laughing as well. It felt as though a weight had been lifted. The sun melded into the horizon and both men found their tea had gone cold.

A little while later, after the two both rested against the cottage wall and watched the sun finally disappear, Merlin murmured, "There's still a lot to tell you."

"I know," Arthur said sleepily. "That's okay. I want to hear it, but it can wait. You told me a lot tonight."

Merlin hummed in response.

"Merlin?" said Arthur, his eyes closed.

"Yes, Arthur?"

"I'm sorry you had to be alone for so long. That wasn't fair either."

They both pulled up the blankets and engulfed themselves in them. The air was beginning to sting with its late autumn coldness but Merlin had reheated their tea with magic and they both clutched onto their hot mugs. Lists of Arthur's To-Dos flickered through Merlin's mind: _bath (shower?), car, new clothes, television, brief summary of history, _gods _the Arthurian legend. That's going to make his ego explode. Me, _he settled on. _Me, me, me. _Merlin could feel Arthur's body warmth next to his, hitting on where their shoulders touched. Merlin leaned his head against the wall and sighed. It was overwhelming again. The weight was back, maybe a little lighter than it had been, but it was surely back.

But the most important thing of all, Merlin thought, was to get Arthur acclimatized to his new situation. That would mean leaving the cottage and it would also mean putting off (not lying, only avoiding) telling Arthur more about himself. Merlin saw that as a double win and he decided it should happen soon as possible.

"I think we should go into town soon," said Merlin. He looked at the king, but Arthur was snoozing, his mouth hung partially open and his tea spilling onto his blanket.

"Dollophead," said Merlin softly. He took the tea from Arthur's loose fingers and carried both his and Arthur's mugs and his own blanket into the cottage, quietly as he could.

He watched Arthur sleep for a moment and remembered what Arthur said about how death was like dreaming. He felt briefly jealous at Arthur for being surrounded by the people he loved for so long. But then he thought about whether it was worse to live centuries alone or to be abruptly pulled from such peace. He couldn't decide.

Merlin himself felt as exhausted as Arthur looked. "Arthur," he said, shaking his shoulder. "Arthur, come on, wake up. You can't sleep out here."

"Mmmmf," said Arthur.

"Don't be a prat, Arthur. You're not sleeping outside."

When Merlin finally coaxed Arthur back inside, it was black outside and even the mist from the lake was invisible in the dark.

Arthur yawned and scratched his head. He shuffled towards the bedroom but the stopped and said, "Merlin where you sleeping?"

"The armchair probably."

Arthur looked at it. "There's a giant hole in it, Merlin. The stuffing is coming out."

"Oh, right," said Merlin, blushing. "I forgot. Dropped your sword onto it," he explained. He walked over to it, examined it, and then patched it up with a spell. "There," he said. "Goodnight, Arthur."

But Arthur walked towards him and put his hands on his hips. He nodded at the chair and said, "Merlin, is that comfortable, really?"

"It's fine."

"_Mer_lin."

"Alright, it's a little lumpy but I don't sleep much anyways."

Arthur blinked. "You don't?"

Merlin shook his head. "The older I've gotten, the less sleep I need." He didn't mention that nightmares frequented his sleep or that he wanted to make sure Arthur slept well and soundly in the most comfortable place in his cottage, or that he was somehow nervous that something would happen now that Arthur had returned. "I read. I'm fine. _Really_, Arthur. Go to bed."

"Whatever you say, Merlin," said Arthur sarcastically.

"I do say. And we should go into town soon, okay?"

"Um. Yes. Probably should."

"Arthur…" said Merlin, repressing a grin. "Are you nervous?"

"What?! No! Of course not. Don't be ridiculous, Merlin."

Merlin raised his eyebrows and Arthur said, "Well, maybe a little. What if I do something that's out of place? What if I'm not ready?"

"You'll be fine, Arthur," said Merlin. "I promise. We'll take it step by step."

Arthur stared at Merlin for a minute but then said, "Yes, yes. Of course. Well, goodnight, Merlin."

"'Night, Arthur. Oh! Wait. Take this candle with you." Merlin grabbed one from a shelf and said, "_Forbearne_. Just blow it out before you go to sleep."

"Will do." Arthur went into the bedroom with the candle.

Two minutes later Merlin called, "And don't let the bedbugs bite!"

Behind the door, Merlin heard Arthur respond muffled, "Shut up, Merlin."

Merlin smiled and walked to his study. He sat at his desk and took in the piles of his collection around him. It made him feel stronger; the legends were a testament to their relationship that they survived for so long. And Merlin would be damned if it all went to hell now.

But he looked out the open door of study, to where his radio was supposed to be sitting in one piece. What had the news been today? He hadn't even turned on his television of late. Were there more bombings? More war? More sickness? Merlin rubbed his forehead with his palm. He thought about the people he was meant to protect and who had seared Merlin's brain with wars and years and plagues and Arthur's absence, and it was hard not to feel bitter all over again.


	10. Chapter 10

** XXXX **

In the night, Merlin woke once or twice. By morning he wouldn't remember. Sometime before even the smallest hint of dawn, Merlin felt too uneasy to sleep. His cottage was quiet, so unlike the bustling noise of the center of Camelot when he had lived alongside Gaius. In those days, even in the dead of night, there was some noise of a cart rolling over uneven cobblestones, a horse's neigh, or the scraping of swords being sharpened by procrastinating servants. But here, out in the country, there was nothing. Usually, Merlin went unperturbed by the silence, but with Arthur back, his paranoia amplified. What if Arthur had gotten up in the night and, being unable to sleep, took a walk and landed himself in some kind of trouble? What if some vicious scoundrel was already planning his attack on Arthur?

_Don't be ridiculous_, Merlin told himself. It had only been a few hours since they had come in from their seats by the lake. Still, Merlin found the feeling difficult to shake. He stood and stretched. It was remarkable how refreshed he felt; having spent so many years with old bones, he had forgotten what it was like not to ache after being in one position for so long. Merlin could feel his hair sticking up in every way as he softly walked from the armchair in his living room, through the kitchen, to right outside his own bedroom door. Merlin scrunched his toes in his wooly socks. Whispering a spell under his breath, Merlin magicked open the door.

Arthur was in Merlin's bed. He was on his stomach, face planted in a pillow and drooling slightly onto it. Merlin shook his head, making a mental note to add extra soap to the wash. The oddly pleasant din of Arthur's snores filled the room and Merlin felt relieved. The candle Merlin had given Arthur was still burning, just slightly. The wax pooled at its base.

"Prat," said Merlin, extinguishing the fire.

He stood in the doorway, marveling at how after being buried for so long, Arthur could still sleep as deeply as he ever had. It was strange, Merlin thought, that he had known Arthur for centuries now, while Arthur had only known Merlin for about a decade. Did those years in the lake count? Merlin didn't think so. Arthur hadn't spent that time talking to a Merlin that wasn't there, recollecting their adventures, comparing what was to what had been.

Suddenly, Merlin felt intrusive and closed the bedroom door, but he didn't go back to the armchair. Instead, he slid down the wall and sat. He looked over to the armchair and floated his blanket to him. He knew he was being overprotective, overly worried, but with Arthur, he thought, there was no such thing as too much precaution. He only hoped Arthur wouldn't take notice. In any case, Merlin would wake up before Arthur so he would never have to know he slept outside the bedroom. Gradually, Merlin fell asleep with Arthur's snores playing in the background.

At mid-morning, Merlin carelessly opened his bedroom door and opened the blinds and sunlight broke through. Arthur groaned and Merlin grinned. "Time to get up!" he said. "Busy day."

Arthur said something incomprehensible into the pillow.

"You know," said Merlin with his hands on his hips, facing Arthur, "You're getting slobber all over my nice pillow and if you had any money, I'd make you pay for a new one."

Again, Arthur muttered into the pillow.

"What's that?" asked Merlin.

"I _said_," Arthur lifted his head, "This pillow is anything but nice. It looks wretched."

"Well, it is old. Haven't really done much shopping in the last few decades."

"Mpppf."

"Come on, Arthur. Get up. I'm going to show you some new things today. We can go out for a walk in the village."

"Alright, alright, I'm up," said Arthur, leaning against the headboard. He itched his head. "By the way, Merlin, could you get me some bathwater? I think I still smell like lake water."

"That's actually one thing I want to show you."

"What, lake water?"

"No, you clotpole. The bath. Or shower. Whatever you like. Come one," Merlin said smiling. "Technology awaits."

In the petit bathroom adjoined to the bedroom, Merlin stood while Arthur kneeled over the tub, looking in.

"Well, I suppose there's more legroom…" Arthur said hesitantly.

"Yes. And most importantly, I don't have to heat up water for you or be in any way involved."

Arthur turned around and looked up at Merlin, who had his arms crossed. "Oh, come off it. I didn't work you that hard. You had plenty of time off."

"Right," said Merlin sarcastically. "And even when I did, I was off trying to prevent someone from offing you." He leaned against the sink counter.

"Hm." Arthur looked back at the tub and reached his hand out for the knobs. "What you do in your own private time is none of my business.

"Now, how exactly does this work? Is it magic? Do all people use magic now? Is it widely accepted?"

"Technology. No, no, and no."

Arthur turned one of the silver knobs and cold water rushed out. "Merlin this is freezing! I can't bathe in this. And what do you mean? Surely magic still isn't illegal. I thought Guinevere would have changed that."

"Turn the other knob. That one's for the warm. No, no. Turn the other one off first. And she did. But magic… It just died out eventually, over the centuries. I don't know anyone still with any abilities. Most people consider it all fantasy, nowadays. As if magic never really existed, but in books."

Arthur put his hand under the water and nodded. "So you still have to keep it hidden? After all this time?" he said quietly.

Merlin sighed. He scratched his fingernail over a dry splotch of toothpaste on the counter. "Yes and no. I obviously can't do anything big that people will really take notice of. But small things, it's fine. People just ignore it or—or think their minds are playing tricks on them. Magic is so outdated no one would actually believe it if they saw it." Merlin shrugged. "It has its ups and downs, I suppose."

"Right, well, I think I'll be having a bath now, Merlin, so if you'd please…" Arthur nodded his head towards the door.

"You sure you'll be alright?"

"Please, Merlin. I think I can handle a bath."

"Whatever you say," said Merlin, slinking through the door, smiling. "Soaps over there on the left."

Fifteen minutes later, Merlin heard Arthur yelp after turning on the showerhead.

During breakfast, Merlin asked, between a mouthful of eggs, "Okay, first things first. Do you want to see the rest of the house or go out to the village?"

Arthur set his fork down on the table and leaned back into his chair and chewed. "Well," he said, "I _haven't _seen everything here. I'm rather curious as to what the smell coming from the room over there is. Something like herbs and spices, but something else too. I can't quite put my finger on it. I'd like to see that. Other than that room… that's pretty much it isn't it? I mean, you haven't exactly got a palace here, Merlin."

"No, but it's much bigger than whatever I had in Camelot. And, alright. We'll do that first. We do have to go into town sometime, you know. To get you your basics. I'm not having you muck up my soap and you're certainly not using my toothbrush."

Arthur laughed. The real reason however, Merlin mused, was something in addition to honestly wanting to get Arthur his own supplies, and something he wasn't going to share with the former king. Merlin could smell his own soap off of Arthur and he was the tiniest bit afraid that if he continued to use it, he'd wipe clean the very distinct Arthur-smell. It was like evergreens and sweat and lake water, and Merlin found he did not mind it at all.

"Merlin?"

"Sorry what?"

"Are you going to show me that room?"

"You're done eating?"

"Obviously." Arthur gestured to his empty plate.

"Fine, then. Let's go." They walked the very short distance to the library. Merlin stood in front of the closed door and turned to face Arthur before they went inside.

"Okay, before we go in, I have to warn you: this could be a lot to handle. It's my library, and it's extensive, and it might be a bit much. So just… prepare yourself, I guess." Arthur raised his eyebrows and Merlin let out a quick breath. "Okay?"

"Sure, fine, Merlin. Let's go."

Merlin opened the door. Like the rest of his cottage, the room was not large. But it was compact, filled to the brim with books and littered with papers. Multitudes of herbs hanging from the ceiling, stuffed into jars, all dried up and covering desktops, poured out the aroma Arthur had detected earlier. Little bottles of wildly colored liquids (one looking grotesquely like blood another a terrible black goop) and things resembling glowing tea bubbles were lined in rows on a shelf beside other strange items. A sheet of massive glossy scales was rolled up and tied with twine in the corner of the room and the fossils of animals Arthur could not name were stacked in boxes or left out to rot. The library resembled Gaius' chambers but instead of objects of medicinal remedies, they were unimaginable—and magical, Arthur guessed. This, Arthur realized, was where everything magic that Merlin owned was kept. Like a room-sized treasure chest. It was probably worth all of the kingdoms combined.

Merlin crossed his arms, biting his lip, and watched Arthur, who moved around the room, looking at the artifacts. He stopped in front of one and let out short, disbelieve gasp. "Is this…?" Arthur asked, picking up a goblet.

"The Cup of Life? Yes. I've got some dragon scales as well, a tooth from the Questing Beast, and a hippogriff's claw. I was lucky to come by a spell that let me keep all of these things in a very small space. They would have been lost otherwise."

"I can't believe this."

"The books too…" Merlin began nervously. "They're quite special."

Arthur paused in front of Merlin's desk, which separated the many bookshelves. He picked up one downwards-facing book and turned it to the cover.

"Merlin… _The History and Myth of the Arthurian Legend?_ What is this?"

"Pick up another." Merlin pulled at a loose thread in his sleeve. "Just look through a few of them."

Arthur picked up the next book in the pile. _King Arthur's Court_ followed _The Mists of Avalon, _then _The Sorcery of Merlin, Guinevere's Betrayal, _and _The Once and Future King_. "Merlin, I don't understand. What are these?"

"They're books. About you. About me."

Arthur shook his head. Merlin noticed his hair was dry now. "But did you write them? Why are there so many of them? And these drawings…" Arthur put his hand over a few of them and spread them apart. "They're labeled with my men's names… Gwaine, Perceval. Lancelot seems to be the most frequent." Arthur looked dumbly at Merlin, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted. He was at a total loss.

Merlin took an immense book from the shelf, as if he knew where everything in his intricate mess was and sat on a window seat that looked out to his garden. "Arthur, I want to show you something. Come here."

Arthur didn't even argue. The former king sat alongside his former servant, who opened the encyclopedic book over both of their knees. "There's never been anyone like you, Arthur. No king before you or since who did what you did, who was loved like you were. Magic may have died out, but stories about you never did and I don't think they ever will." Merlin flicked to a page with a photograph of a beautiful landscape. "This is Camlann, where your last battle was." He turned to another, one of a 19th century illustration of a knight and a lady. "We're all here. Gwen's here too, though this doesn't look like her. I'm afraid most depictions of Gwen haven't really been accurate." Another page with the title "Morgana Le Fay" told of the history and archetype of the wicked witch and her use of black magic. Again, Merlin turned to a new page.

This time, it had extensive text and several drawings all of a blonde boy pulling a sword from a large rock. "That's you," said Merlin, almost proudly. "You're the most recognized of them all. People all over the world, in every country, know your name. They know you were the greatest king ever to rule and some of them believe that you'd come back to rule again. You see," Merlin said, looking at Arthur now instead of the book, "People are still trying to figure out what happened that day at Camlann. Some say that only a giant could slay you and some say you wiped out hundreds of men on your own before finally being defeated. You're a legend, Arthur. And I've got the most extensive library."

Arthur didn't speak. He didn't look at Merlin, just at the drawings of the boy who looked like him but also looked nothing like him at all. His eyes brimmed with glossy tears but he didn't cry. Merlin shuffled a little closer to him.

"Arthur?" he said softly.

"And where do you fit in all of this, Merlin?"

Merlin smiled. "Well, like Gwen, I've been a bit misconstrued over the years. Not that I mind too much… In most stories, I'm a sorcerer and your advisor."

"You were. In a way."

"Well, a proper advisor. With a title and respectability and everything."

"Outrageous," said Arthur, shaking his head. Merlin laughed.

"I think so. And I'm always an old man. The version of me at Camlann. The one of with the long beard and staff." That made Arthur laugh.

"The crugedy old man you made me think was some old cook living in the middle of nowhere?"

"But with more dignity. Perhaps."

"Well good. If any of your _ridiculous _antics survived, I'm glad it was the old man. I _can't _believe I carried you on my back that time."

Merlin chuckled. "I've discovered you can get away with a lot more as a crazy old man than as most other people."

Arthur perused the book a little more, moving the pages from A-Z, from Avalon to the Lady of the Lake to Pendragon, Uther. "I can't believe this," Arthur said after a few minutes silence. He furrowed his brow and said, "You were right… it really is a lot."

Merlin stood up. "Come on, we should go. You can look through more of these later. I think we need some fresh air, yeah?" He held out his hand.

And Arthur took it.


	11. Chapter 11

***Note: **Hello again! I just wanted to say thank you all for your follows, favorites, and reviews. They're greatly appreciated, as is all the support! Honestly, Merlin has been seeping into every aspect of my life… I've just checked out _Mists of Avalon_ from the library, I'm painting Guinevere, and I mentioned Camlann in a poem for one of my creative writing classes.

Anyways, this week, Merlin is finally taking Arthur out into the town!

(PS I recently wrote a one shot that is also modern, but much more angsty, if you want to check it out.)

**XXXX**

The day was nice, pleasantly cool. Merlin wore his usual Sherpa coat, this time undone and open to a scarlet sweater. Arthur, on the other hand, was forced into another one of Merlin's hoodies, the only article of clothing that was accommodating to both Merlin and Arthur's body types. However, Arthur didn't miss the opportunity to complain, saying it was far too snug for his liking.

"That's one reason we're going into town, Arthur. You need clothes. Among other things."

"Yes, well, I feel like a dollophead."

"That's my word."

"I can't believe people actually wear these things now. Absolutely ridiculous."

Merlin sighed. "You ready?"

"You're sure I shouldn't bring my sword with me? Just as a precaution?"

"No, definitely not."

"Fine, then. I'm ready."

Merlin stuffed a beanie onto his head. As the pair walked toward the front door, Merlin stopped at a small table and pulled open a dusty drawer. He took out a pair of unused keys and handed them to Arthur.

"Here, take these. They're the keys to the house. If we get separated, if anything happens, I want you to come right back here, okay?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and tossed the keys up in the air, catching them as they fell. "Mer _lin_, please. No need to be such a girl."

"I'm serious, Arthur. There's a lot of stuff out there that you're not familiar with and I don't want you to face it alone. Just do as I say for once, yeah?"

"Alright fine, Merlin. Since you're so worried. But won't you need keys as well?"

"Nah, no need," said Merlin. He flicked his wrist and waved his hand. "I'm covered. Let's go."

But as Merlin grasped the doorknob, he was stopped.

"Merlin?"

"Hm?"

"What's all this?"

Merlin's eyes found Arthur, then travelled to his hands that held a piece of black plastic. "Oh, erm… that's just bits from my radio."

"How's that?"

"My radio… I—um—broke it."

Arthur huffed. He picked up a few more pieces, snapped, wiry metal and tiny, singed plastic that curled in on itself. "This looks more than broken, Merlin. This looks obliterated." He laughed. "I knew you were clumsy, but this is outstanding."

Merlin shuffled his feet. "Oh, erm. It's nothing. You know, just having an off day. Ha. You know how it is, can't keep my feet on the ground or my magic under wraps. No big deal, really."

Arthur's grin fell. "Merlin?"

"Let's go."

It did not take long for Merlin and Arthur to reach the road outside Merlin's cottage. Merlin was grateful that he lived in a relatively secluded area and not a city; whatever means by which he could steadily ease Arthur into the 21st century was a blessing in itself. Arthur had his hands in his pockets and looked down the road, then back at the lake. It seemed much farther away now. Merlin tugged at his elbow. "C'mon," he said, smiling and nodding down road.

The farther they walked, the more little cottages, not dissimilar to Merlin's, were planted alongside the road. They chatted idly after Merlin mentioned it would take about thirty minutes walking to get anywhere of real value. It was about fifteen minutes in when a lorry, followed closely by a car zoomed down the street.

Arthur jumped manically and cursed. His hand automatically went to his hip, where he most unfortunately didn't have a sword. "What! Merlin, what the _hell_— "

"Cars, Arthur. Transportation. Like, um, electronic horses. People drive them. They're like carriages, but faster. Did we have carriages? No, wait, sorry. I don't think we did. Everything—times and all—get mixed up after a while… We'll go with the horse metaphor, then," Merlin said wisely, almost to himself.

Arthur stared blankly. "Do you mean to—to tell me, those things are frequent? As in, I should get used to them?"

Merlin laughed. "Wait till you see the cities. They're everywhere. The traffic is insane. You wouldn't believe it. Like a forest of them. But, yes, Arthur, you should get used to them. And be careful, too, you know. People aren't always careful or paying attention. You can get killed by a car just as easily—probably _easier_—as you could get trampled by a horse. Just keep out of the roads as a general rule. Walk along the side of them."

"Right," said Arthur, looking as though he was making a mental note. He was still wide-eyed and Merlin allowed himself a chuckle at his expense. Arthur paused and then asked, "Why don't you have one?"

"Oh." Merlin was caught off guard. Really, he had never considered a car. "I just never needed one, I suppose. For a long time, I got around well enough on horses, ships, what have you. Nowadays there's public transportation, if I need. Buses and things." He shrugged. "And I like walking."

From then on, Arthur walked on the inside of Merlin, allowing him to walk closest to the street instead. If anyone asked, he certainly wasn't the slightest bit uneasy about passing cars. Not at all.

They came to a split in the road, where one side turned into a dirt path and the other a better-paved street. Merlin led them down the latter. It was here that their conversation died down, as Arthur took in his surroundings. The small, sparse cottages developed into manufactured, uniform homes. The road was black with yellow and white stripes and impressively smooth. Street lamps hung like thin, strange citadels, not yet glowing in the daylight. More cars, buses, and lorries passed. Some pulled into the driveways of the homes, where Arthur saw his first new century people. He thought they looked laughable, children in stripped shirts and shorts, women in heels and short dresses, men in plain trousers and button-down shirts. They all looked, in Arthur's opinion, rather lazily dressed.

Merlin, for his part, spent his time watching Arthur watch the world. Had he a question, Merlin was quick to answer.

"—They're called lawn mowers."

"—Cricket."

"—That's common, actually."

"—Mail is delivered every day by a mail man. Letters, sometimes packages sent to a person's house."

"—No, no servants. Well, not usually. Definitely not around here." Just as Merlin was explaining to an incredulous Arthur about people _not _having dog-walkers or cooks or stable cleaners or seamstresses of their own, a woman in her forties bumped into Merlin.

"Oh, excuse me!" she said. "I'm sorry, dearie, I wasn't looking where I was going. I've just got all this," she hoisted up the grocery bags she was carrying.

"No problem." Merlin smiled. "Can we help you with anything?"

"No, no, I'm quite capable." She stopped and shifted her weight. "I see you're coming in from that small neighborhood. It is such a _strange_ place."

"How so?" Arthur interjected.

"Such odd little stories. Only silly things children believe, of course."

"Like what?" he asked.

"We don't want to keep you," Merlin said. He discreetly nudged Arthur in the side, but the woman seemed happy to talk.

"Oh, no bother, dearie. They say there's a man there, an old gent, who's _hundreds_ of years old. Some sort of magic man too. Nonsense, of course. He's simply a crabby old hermit who secludes himself."

"Maybe," said Merlin grumpily, crossing his arms. "He was just lonely."

The woman looked taken aback at Merlin's tone and so Arthur grinned and said, "Are you sure we can't help you? We're in no rush ourselves."

"Alright, dearie. My car's just up the road there. You can take these bags." Arthur took a bag in each hand, and spoke kindly with the woman as they piled the groceries into her car. "Thank you, sweetheart. That was very nice of you. Are you from around these parts? I haven't seen either you before."

"I'm Arthur, this is M—" but Merlin cut him off. "We've just moved in. That old man, you were saying before, he was my grandfather. Died this last week. I'm taking up his space."

The woman's face fell into something resembling guilt. She got into her car. "Goodness, I am sorry. I didn't realize… I live just a few miles away. If you need anything, just ring."

Merlin smiled. "Will do. Cheers."

They watched as the nameless woman drove off, and when she did Merlin turned to Arthur and said, "What were you thinking! We can't go around telling people our names are Merlin and Arthur. They'll think we're nutty."

"I don't see why it's such a big deal," Arthur said angrily. "Aren't I supposed to 'reclaim the throne' or whatever it is you said? How am I supposed to do that if they don't even know who we are?"

"It's too soon, Arthur!" Merlin threw his hands in the air, exasperated. He'd thought Arthur would have grasped this concept by now. "You don't even know what a _car _is, who is going to believe you can rule the nation?"

"Well, certainly not me!"

Merlin got quiet. "What?"

"It's just as you said," Arthur spat. "I don't know what anything is. This is all so bizarre. I couldn't possibly wrap my head around this well enough to rule a kingdom."

Merlin sighed and scratched his head, regretting his harshness. A few people in their lawns stopped and stared at them, overhearing their row. Merlin highly doubted they could make out the words, however. "It'll take some time, definitely… But we'll get there, Arthur. We will. We just… have to take it slow."

"So you've said."

"There's a reason you're back, Arthur. We'll find out what that is and then we'll figure out how to make you king again. Too bad there's no sword to pull out of a rock this time." At that, Arthur smiled.

"If only it were that easy."

"If only. Now… let's get you some clothes."

Arthur shook his head and smiled softly. "Idiot," he said fondly and pushed Merlin lightly down the street. "Well, let's have a move on.

"Merlin?"

"Yeah?"

"What were you talking about your grandfather? Surely, you didn't know him. You didn't even know your father."

"Um, well, I wouldn't say that I didn't know my father_ at all_—"

"What—"

"But, no, that was just a far simpler explanation than the actual circumstances."

"So, who's the old man?"

"Tell you later."

"Putting things off like this better not become a habit."

"Won't."

The first store they approached was in a shopping center, presumably frequented by the several outlying towns. There were several clothing stores, a department store and one second-hand shop, a grocery store, a sporting store, a music store that looked as though it would go out of business very soon, and a few small restaurants and a café. It was the weekend, so it bustled with people and the shuffling of their bags. A few teenage girls looked at them and giggled. One waved. Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"Still got your keys?" Merlin asked Arthur, ignoring the girls. He patted a jingling pocket at the front of his hoodie. "Right. Clothes first, I think."

Inside the men's section at the department store (Arthur refused to buy used clothes), Arthur was instantly drawn to blazers, brown jackets made of leather, and v-neck t-shirts. Merlin actually had fun swimming through the racks of clothing, helping Arthur pick and choose (though he insisted he do most of it himself). In the end, Arthur had a pile of tees (mostly varying shades of red), dark jeans, among other select jacket choices.

Directing him to the dressing room, Merlin followed Arthur where a man took his clothes, counted the number and led him to a door. Merlin stood on the outside and folded his arms.

"You're not coming in to help?" said Arthur.

"Erm, no. I'll be out here. You can show me if you like," Merlin said. The employee raised his eyebrows and smirked, but said nothing as he walked away. "Actually, Arthur," Merlin whispered, "Since most people don't have servants nowadays, you're going to have do these things on your own. I know it was different in Camelot, but it'll be good for you. If you're ever in need of your chainmail, though, I'm your man."

Arthur nodded and shut the door the dressing room. "Well?" Merlin called, after some time. "Anything good?

"Oh."

The door opened and Arthur was in a pair of dark jeans, an olive v-neck, and brown leather jacket. He wriggled and tugged on its hem, adjusting himself. "It is…" he began slowly, "Rather strange. But I actually think I'll get used to it."

"You look good, Arthur. Really good." Arthur smiled and Merlin blushed a little. "Well, I mean, you don't look like a total cabbage head. I think it'll do."

"Right, well, let me try on a few more things, then we'll be on our way."

A half an hour later, they darted through the rest of the department store, picking up things like socks, expensive leather shoes that Merlin only just felt able to splurge on, and other small necessities. Arthur found the rest of the shopping all horribly boring. More than once he expressed his displeasure at not having servants to do the menial work for him. Before they left, Arthur opted to wear some of his new clothes out, instead of the dreaded hoodie.

"Keep your boots on, though," Merlin said. "I paid a fortune for those and you're not going to ruin them the first day."

"Don't be such a girl's petticoat, Merlin," Arthur said. But he kept on the boots.

"I'm hungry," Arthur abruptly announced, as they walked on the sidewalk outside the stores.

"Well, let's get your royal mouth fed, shall we?"

"_Mer_lin."

There was a diner that served breakfast all day (much to Arthur's happiness) not far from the shops. A cute waitress with a strong northern accent took their order. Merlin could practically hear Arthur's stomach growling. It wasn't like him to go so long without eating.

"Careful!" Merlin said happily. "We don't want to be buying new belts every week do we?"

Arthur just scowled. Eventually they fell into conversation about all the different varieties of restaurants and all the different flavors they offered, and how Merlin was going to make Arthur try each kind.

Above the chalk menu of daily specials, a television glowed a dull light. Arthur was talking, but Merlin stopped listening. Instead, the crackle of riots in London brought to them via video footage filled his ears.

-_6 dead, many injured_, said the newsman. _No bombings today, but police are on lookout, as there have been several threats this week. Reminder to all who live in major cities to lock your doors at night and report and suspicious activity—_

"—eh, Merlin?"

Merlin scraped his fingernails against the table and screwed up his eyes. It had been so easy to evade this week, so easy not to think about the rest of the world.

"Merlin?"

He had to fix it. With Arthur back, there was even more pressure. How could Merlin tell his king of the disorder the nation was in? Had been in? All the wars that had been… How Merlin did nothing to stop them? How he preferred cooping himself up in a lonely cottage rather than keep Arthur's land at peace?

-_In other news, war in the east—_

_ -Innocent civilians and soldiers risking their lives—_

_ -Turmoil in these united kingdoms—_

"Merlin!"

Merlin slammed his palm against the table and in an instant, his eyes flashed gold and his and Arthur's cups of tea shook and burst.


	12. Chapter 12

***Note: **As always, thank you for the kind reviews/follows/favorites. I've updated the summary of the story because… well, when I started I didn't exactly know where I was heading with it, and I think the new summary is a more accurate (and clearer!) to where the story is heading.

This chapter is shorter than most, but I did want to get something out this weekend, so at least it's not nothing!

**XXXX**

"Oh—" Merlin cursed. Arthur sat stunned, unsure how to react. Most people in the diner mirrored Arthur. Their waitress clutched a broom in her hand, but didn't make for the table.

Merlin cleared his throat and stood hastily, "Erm… Sorry about that. Lost control. Clumsy, me. Hit the cup with my hand, smashed against the other. Domino effect, y'know. Sorry." Merlin dropped some money on the table, probably too much, but he didn't care for checking at the moment; he was in a hurry. He grabbed the king's arm but immediately let go when Arthur flinched. Merlin curled his hand to his chest, looking momentarily hurt. He shook it off and whispered, "Arthur, we need to leave. _Now_."

The two moved quickly out of the diner and onto the road without speaking.

"Wait here," said Merlin outside of a store. Under normal circumstances, he was sure Arthur would have argued, but he stayed quiet. Merlin didn't know whether to take this obedience as relief or unease. In a remarkably short time—a few minutes at most—Merlin emerged with a plastic bag of essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, razor, shaving cream, etc. He looked just about ready to go on a weekend trip.

Merlin hailed for a cab, for which he also paid, and together they took it as close to the cottage as possible. Arthur's bags were cumbersome but they managed with as little difficulty as could be expected. Arthur was out of sorts. It was his first time in a car, and he sat edgily crammed in the corner of the backseat, where the door met the seat. Merlin sat beside him, with Arthur's bags on the floor. For a few moments, Arthur seemed to relax, but when the driver automatically and unexpectedly rolled down the window next to Arthur, he jumped and scooted closer to Merlin and away from the door, though still said nothing. Merlin would have laughed if he didn't feel as though he was going to vomit.

The incident in the diner was nothing, really, Merlin thought. In fact, he had done so much before—accidentally displayed magic in a public place. No, the employees would certainly forget it in their next shift, as the tables filled and food was served, and the guests themselves would brush it off with a laugh or forget it all together. People were stupidly and thankfully accepting in that way. Merlin was sure by tomorrow they'd think nothing of it, feel there was nothing suspicious about the blonde and brunette at the diner the day before.

It was Arthur that Merlin was worried about. Of course, he had shown his magic to Arthur, on that day when he revealed it. What had it been? A dragon made of embers to show the gentleness of magic and, later, the escape and force against a few enemy men to show the protective power of Merlin's magic. He had been, then, in full control. What Arthur saw then, though minimal to be sure (especially when Merlin considered he could cause an earthquake), it was sudden and invasive magic. It was pre-Camelot magic, instinctual and unbound. Merlin chided himself for acting so loosely in front of Arthur.

What a mess he was making of things, he thought. Merlin looked over at Arthur in the cab. Though he was finally leaning back comfortably, his hands were clasped together and were settled between his thighs. He looked out the window, down at his purchases, anywhere but Merlin. But, Merlin couldn't blame him. After all, Arthur had spent all of his life trained to associate magic with malice. And though Merlin believed, truly believed, that Arthur forgave him for lying all those years, it would be some time before the instinct of panic, of probably reaching for a sword that was not there, to stop.

Merlin was contemplating the best way to approach Arthur when the car stopped, the cabbie gruffly told Merlin the fee, and the pair shuffled out. Merlin tugged the hem of his sweater.

"You okay?" he asked Arthur.

"Fine."

"But—"

"I said I'm _fine_."

"Okay," Merlin breathed, not sure and not wanting to say anything else. They trudged their way back to the cottage and Merlin sighed as he unlocked the front door with magic. Inside, Arthur kicked off his shoes and left the shopping bags by the door. Merlin removed his coat and hung it on the coat rack, and watched as Arthur ran a hand through his hair as he made for the refrigerator, staring into it but taking nothing out. For a second, Merlin's stomach flipped pleasantly. Arthur looked the very picture of 21st century domesticity and in that second, Merlin could imagine everything was as it should be. But when Arthur slammed its door and slouched over to the armchair where he dropped himself imperially, Merlin felt the bad kind of knots in his belly once again.

Merlin sat himself down on the couch beside the chair and faced Arthur. He stared at him unabashedly, waiting for Arthur to say something. He'd even like him to yell, the quietness was so upsetting. Minutes passed away and with each Merlin became more agitated. "Arthur," he began. "I—"

"I'm not angry at you, Merlin," Arthur said, finally looking at him.

"You're—you're not?" Merlin's eyebrows drew in confusion. He licked his lips and edged a little closer to Arthur, hopefully.

"No, _Mer_lin. Why would I be?"

"Because what I did! That was—I shouldn't have—it's not fair to you or—"

"Merlin!" The sorcerer clamped his mouth shut. "Honestly, you babble like a girl. I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with myself."

"Why? I don't…understand."

Arthur sighed, rolled his eyes, and threw his hand through his hair again. "Because I _knew _already, about you and magic. I should be expecting these things. I should be _okay _with them. I shouldn't be afraid of you, or—or react in the way I did. I shouldn't want to go for my sword when your eyes change color. I should know better."

"Arthur…" Merlin said slowly. "I don't know you shouldn't be afraid…. I mean, of course I would never _never_ hurt you. You know that, don't you, Arthur?" The king nodded. "I just… what I can _do_, sometimes it frightens me. I wouldn't blame you if were afraid of me," Merlin muttered, staring at his knees.

Arthur put his hand on Merlin's shoulder and shook it. "Don't say that, Merlin. I know you. I know you're good."

"You don't—" It became clear to Arthur that Merlin's eyes were filling up. "We had only just met,"—Merlin wiped his nose on his sleeve—"When I lost you."

"No," said Arthur, shaking his head. "I've always known you, Merlin, magic or no." "—But."

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. "_Mer_lin. When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours? You aren't your magic. Well, maybe you mostly are. But magic isn't your wisdom, or your bravery, or your loyalty. You are much more than that. Maybe you're the greatest sorcerer ever, but to me you're the same idiot who was put in the stocks for a week straight. That Merlin is infinitely more than this Emrys bloke. To me, at least."

Merlin didn't say anything, but looked at Arthur with big eyes and parted lips, so Arthur continued. "I don't mean to say I'm not grateful. I am. Or your magic isn't important. I can't for the life of me imagine being in your position. I just mean to say, well, when it comes down to it, just Merlin is enough. And if that includes magic," Arthur shrugged, "So be it."

Arthur was unprepared when Merlin threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly. In his ear, Arthur could hear Merlin sniffle out a "Thank you," so small that if he hadn't been listening, he probably would have missed it.

It struck Arthur what a contradiction Merlin was in that moment: such a strange being, a lonely man and a fierce creature of magic that could frighten even Arthur at times, and a tender boy who wore his heart on his sleeve. It was difficult for Arthur to reconcile the two, except for to use the name "Merlin." For him, that's what the word meant.

Merlin backed away and grinned toothily. "Sorry," he said, but didn't look too sorry at all.

"Now, Merlin…" Arthur sat back in the armchair heavily. "What was that all about at the diner?"


End file.
